Clandestine Rendezvous
by Nephyr
Summary: Is meeting someone late at night a crime? If it was, she was so guilty. So why does she come back night after night to talk to him? Didn't he hate all mudbloods? She wanted to believe the worst of him. But maybe the worst wasn't true.
1. Prologue

**Clandestine Rendezvous**

_Prologue_

----1----

He was arrogant, disdainful, and dangerously handsome, with an inculcated hatred of muggles, a natural contempt for heroics, and a thirst for power. He was wealthy and intelligent, two already lethal attributes, and combined with his good looks and desire for dominance, he was a formidable man—except he was not yet a man. He was a wizard at the school called Hogwarts, on the threshold of manhood, watching childhood slip away beneath his feet. He always knew it would pass, because he desperately desired it would pass, and he got everything he desired. And once it did, he would be the kind of man his father trained him to become.

Draco Malfoy coupled love with Santa Claus and the tooth fairy; it was non-existent, a fairy tale told to children to calm them and enthrall them with the supposed wonders of life. He was jaded past that point; love couldn't, and wouldn't, happen to him. He knew deep in his gut—because the heart, fickle as it was, could not be trusted and must be kept away under lock and key—that love was only illusion keeping power from its highest form, and therefore not worthy of him.

Or at least, he thought he knew this.

----2----

Draco Malfoy leaned back into the train compartment, thankful for the few minutes alone. Not that he was truly _thankful_, of course. Malfoys were _never_ thankful. But it was an expression.

Crabbe and Goyle, his two idiotic, annoying sidekicks, and the girl constantly pestering him, Pansy, had not found him yet. But the keyword here, as always, was yet. The Slytherins he knew were dim-witted, malicious people who gave no thought to real ambition. They simply tormented innocents and found their satisfaction in their fear, knowing that they had the upper hand, that they were in control. Once, Draco had found amusement in such activities, but not anymore. What was the use of proving your own superiority when you _knew_ you were better, smarter, more powerful, and unquestionably more gorgeous already? No, Draco longed for something more. Something… different, something… refreshing.

With the imbeciles he spent his valuable time with, that was definitely out of the question. Draco sighed. But what could he do? He wasn't about to go look for companionship, much less from other Houses! Why, to think of _Draco Malfoy_ going to a Ravenclaw for company! Or, worse yet, a wimpy Hufflepuff! And of course Gryffindor was out of the question!

Draco nonchalantly ran his hand through his white-blonde hair, watching the others board the Hogwarts Express outside. Parents were waving goodbye to their children while trying not to cry. _Sentimental fools_, thought Draco. _They do this _every_ year. What's so different about this one?_ He realized he was repeating his father's sentiments. His father, Lucius Malfoy, would never go to deliver him to the train, weeping like a buffoon along the way. No, the Malfoys were better than that. It was his house elf that escorted him. Little Fawny was utterly loyal to him; in fact, she was the one trying not to cry as he got on the train. In some ways, Fawny was a better parent than his own genetic relations.

Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, and therefore complied with the Dark Lord's every command. When Draco saw him bowing like some inferior being, he lost all respect for his father. A Malfoy, as his grandfather had repeated to Draco several times before his death, would never prostrate himself to anyone. Lucius was not a true Malfoy. Not anymore. His discontent towards his father for the years alternately ignoring him and beating him was strengthened by the new conviction that he was not worthy of being a Malfoy. Even Lucius' attempt to make up his cruelty by gifting Draco with lavish presents was pathetic in Draco's eyes. His father was a feeble fool.

Narcissa Malfoy was just as insensitive to a little boy's needs. Early on, all she thought about was her vanity and her beauty—when she became pregnant with Draco, her first thought was abortion. But Malfoys never abort, so Narcissa was forced to carry the child bitterly. When he was born, she immediately handed him to the house elves before loosing weight and beginning to socialize once more. She had done her duty to the Malfoys; now she was free to do as she pleased. Draco never remembered her in his life, except at family dinners and occasionally moaning in her bed as some stranger thrust into her.

Draco had gone to Fawny for tendering the bruises. He had gone to Fawny when his father battered him. He had gone to Fawny for everything until his father found out and pounded into him the all important statute—Malfoy males never depended on anyone, never accepted compassion or pity from anyone.

And he lived by that now. Not because his father said so, but because it was shrewd to do so. He didn't need anyone to survive. Did he?

----x----

Please R/R!


	2. Misery, Mischief, and Menace

**Clandestine Rendezvous**

_Chapter 1: Misery, Mischief, and Menace_

----1----

Hermione Granger watched as the boy she loved, the boy she had always loved, gave his girlfriend a warm hug and a tender kiss on her smooth forehead. She had no right to feel jealous; after all, she was only Hermione, the know-it-all mudblood with a bossy attitude to match. But even as she watched Harry holding Cho in his arms as if he would never let go, she had a hard time trying to control the tears rising to her eyes. She lowered her head and furtively wiped away two tears at the corners of her eyes. Looking up again, she murmured into Ron's ear, "I'm going back to the common room," before standing and leaving.

Ginny, who sat next to Ron on the bleachers, noticed this. "What's wrong with Hermione?"

Ron shrugged as he watched her walk off. "How would I know?"

They were at Quidditch practice, and they had been just about to leave when the Ravenclaw team arrived. Cho had run over to Harry, throwing her arms around his neck and giggling. It was apparent that Harry had never gotten over Cho and, now that she had properly mourned over Cedric Diggory, the now deceased golden boy, she turned her attentions on Harry. Ron felt happy for Harry; after all, he had the girl of his dreams. Hermione, though, was clearly upset, probably because she didn't have anyone. Well, neither did he, but he wasn't storming off! Turning his attention back to the field, he observed the Ravenclaw team taking off and Harry standing below, on the field, grinning like a madman.

"Team, let's go," Ron said laughingly. "Harry, that means you, too."

----2----

Hermione wandered amid the shelves of books that aligned her sanctuary, the Hogwarts library. Picking out a random book, she found an empty table and began leafing through it. But she couldn't concentrate on the task. Her mind kept reverting back to the scene she had seen a while ago, out on the Quidditch field, of Harry's look of delight as Cho entered the field, of his lips caressing her skin, of their utter contentment standing there together. She knew she should be happy for him, but it hurt seeing them like that. Especially because she, Hermione Granger, had been the one who was always there for Harry, from the first year to now, their sixth year of school. Cho had rejected him in the fourth, confused and frazzled him the fifth, and now here she was, latching onto him every time they happened to be in the same room.

The more she thought about it, the more upset she became. Anger, betrayal, and despair flooded through her, a torrent of rampant emotion. Hermione was oblivious to everything else—especially the wizard leaning casually against a shelf, watching her with muted interest. "Well, Granger, I never knew it took you twenty minutes to read a single sentence," he drawled.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts, giving a little jolt in the chair. When she turned to look at him, her wide eyes narrowed and she muttered nastily, "Malfoy."

"Good to see you remember my name, Granger," Malfoy sneered.

"Leave, Malfoy. I'm studying and I don't need you interrupting my concentration." Hermione grimaced as she looked back down at the textbook. She _had_ been reading the same sentence over and over again. 

"Really? Just what were you concentrating on? You seem to be utilizing too much emotion to be reading a passage from Magical Flora Throughout History," he scoffed, walking over to glance at the book. Hermione realized with horror that her hands were white from being clenched into fists and her nails had cut into the soft skin of her palm. Malfoy noted this and sneered again. "Try not to get blood on the book, Granger. Who knows? Maybe I'll need to use it later."

He strode away, leaving a dismayed Hermione sitting at the table, staring at the fresh, crimson liquid trickling down her hands.

Ginny came wandering through the shelves to find her a little later. Hermione had drawn up her legs to her chest, hugging them there and trembling uncontrollably. She didn't notice her presence, even when she stood right next to her. Ginny waited for acknowledgement for a while before laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"'Mione?" Ginny asked worriedly. She glanced up at her, but didn't stop trembling. "Hermione, are you alright?"

"I'm cold," she replied faintly. "I'm so cold." Ginny knelt down next to her so that they were at eye level and pulled her into an embrace, despite Hermione's blood-stained hands. They stayed in that position until Hermione stopped shivering a good while later.

----3----

Draco Malfoy was, if anything, perceptive. He saw everyone and everything, and that was what made him exasperating to friends and enemies alike.

He saw Harry Potter's supposed infatuation with Cho Chang. He saw Ron Weasley's thickheaded oblivion to Granger's distress. He saw the mudblood's disgust and envy towards Chang and Potter's relationship. He saw the youngest Weasley's happiness for Potter, despite her reemerging love for him. And he even saw the fat Gryffindor, Longbottom, had a schoolboy crush on Hermione.

And perhaps most important, he saw the quiet adoration in Potter's eyes whenever he regarded Ron Weasley.

-----

Draco leaned his head against the common room window pane, watching the wind push back the blades of grass on the grounds, causing them to sway in a simple dance. Beyond the grassy plain, the Forbidden Forest loomed up, mysterious and gloomy, a place of veiled danger, as the old coot Dumbledore continually warned the students.

Draco was bored stiff. His goons Crabbe and Goyle were sitting on the floor a little ways off, discussing what was better—cake or candy.

"But cake has frosting!" Goyle protested after a long period of time when he had come close to actually thinking.

"Candy has… has… sweet stuff!" Crabbe followed after another considerable pause.

"Cake is soft!" Goyle cried again.

"Candy melts!" Crabbe yelled.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, wishing they would just shut up. He took out his wand and pointed it to their mouths. _"Silencio."_

Crabbe, who was just about to speak again, opened his mouth and realized with alarm that nothing was coming out. He gestured desperately to his mouth, but Goyle, being the simple-minded slug he was, didn't understand. He tried to ask Crabbe what he was saying, but then realized he couldn't speak, either. They stared at each other for a moment before running around the room, trying to scream at the top of their lungs. Finally, worn out, Goyle crawled over to Malfoy and held out a piece of paper.

_I thinc i turnd def._

Draco rolled his eyes and replied, "You're not deaf, Goyle. You can hear me, can't you?"

Goyle's eyes widened and he pulled his scrap of parchment back, scribbling on it again.

_u __kan__ reed minds!_

Draco tried not to be too disappointed by their lack of brains as he turned back to the window. Two figures, huddled together, were trying to sneak across the grounds without being seen. Draco looked closer. It was Potter and his girlfriend, Chang, heading for the Forbidden Forest. He smirked. They were probably trying to find a place to snog without being interrupted by first years, teachers, or jealous friends, for that matter. A mischievous gleam bounced into Draco's eyes as he slid away from his perch next to the window and walked out of the common room. _Crabbe and Goyle would figure out what happened to them in a couple of hours_, he thought. Right now, it was time to throw a little chaos into Potter's romantic outing.

----4----

From another vantage point in the Hogwarts castle, Hermione watched Harry escort Cho into the Forbidden Forest. The first thing that jumped into her mind was the bitter resentment that it was Cho underneath Harry's arm, not her. Then she realized how much trouble they were going to be in if they were found. She considered leaving them to their fate, but her loyalty to Harry won over and she snuck out to find them and bring them back.

As she stole across the grounds, taking care to stay out of sight, she noticed a shadow passing stealthily through the trees. A second later, it was gone. Hermione shook her head. It must have been a figment of her imagination.

As she stepped over the dead logs on her way into the forest, the afternoon sun was steadily sinking from its position in the sky. Hermione glanced at it. She would have to find Harry and Cho soon. She searched for the path they made by trampling through the wood. Branches lay snapped, footprints in the soft dirt, and the trodden twigs and leaves marked their trail. She could see the shadow of a figure ahead and hoped she had found them.

"Harry!" she yelled, her pace quickening to a jog. "Harry!"

As the solitary form turned, she realized it was not Harry, but the person she least expected to see, the person she didn't want to see the most. Draco Malfoy smirked as she drew near, one eyebrow cocked in his usual arrogant manner. "So, Granger, here to find Scarhead and his girlfriend?"

She glared at him. "Go drink piss, Malfoy. I need to bring Harry back in before Professor McGonagall finds we're gone."

Malfoy's smirk only grew wider. "What language, Mudblood. I thought you knew better."

Hermione snarled at him. "Well, _ferret_, it's impossible to be polite to _you_ of all people." She made to move, but he stepped in front of her.

"Just what _are_ you doing here?" he hissed, a malevolent twinkle in his eye.

"Trying to save Harry from trouble." Hermione tried to step past him, but he blocked her again.

"Really? So you didn't want to spy on the two? You didn't want to imagine that Pothead was kissing you, not Chang?" He smiled knowingly, watching as Hermione's face flushed. "Wow, Granger. I thought only Weasel's face turned into a beet."

"Shove it," she scowled, whipping out her wand. Malfoy took a step back.

"Going to hex me? My, my… what will the teachers say of this? McGonagall will be _so_ shocked."

"She knows you've got it coming all along, you bloody bastard." Hermione's loathing of Malfoy crept into her voice little by little. "You've got five seconds to run. Five…"

"Me? Run?" Malfoy laughed. "As if I would ever run from a mudblood. Forget it, Granger."

"…Three, Two," Hermione smiled grimly. "**One**."

Hermione lifted her wand to cast a spell, but at that moment, an orange and black blur shot past her, knocking Malfoy to the ground and clamping its fangs on his left bicep. Or rather, one set of its fangs. Hermione watched in shock as Malfoy bellowed, "Dear God, Granger! How did you summon this… _thing_?" The thing was a three-headed snake with orange and black stripes, two meters long, and five inches thick. The left head had bitten Malfoy on the arm, the right one hissed at it impatiently, and the middle one was barely reacting at all.

"I… I didn't summon it!" Hermione protested.

"Then what is it and why is it biting me?" Malfoy yelled. Hermione studied it for a second, reviewing all the magical beasts she had read about.

"It's a runespoor, Malfoy. It's a three-headed snake from Africa and it's very dangerous!"

"I know the three-headed and dangerous part! What will it do?"

"Ermm… oh! Be careful of its right head! The fangs are especially poisonous on that head!" Malfoy grabbed its neck, attempting to wrench it off. The right head hissed and the left one unwillingly departed from his arm. Hermione began to breathe a sigh of relief, but the right head lunged forward and Malfoy lost his grip. Fortunately, it overestimated and hit the tree trunk behind him. "Come on!" said Hermione, grabbing Malfoy's arm and running as quickly as possible towards the castle. They were barely out of the fringes of the forest when he began to weaken. Hermione could hear the snake slithering through the grass behind them as Malfoy fell closer to unconsciousness.

Hermione whipped out her wand again and turned around to face the monster. _"Stupefy!"_ she cried as the snake lunged up for the kill.

The runespoor was thrown backwards against the floor as Hermione tried to move Malfoy. He didn't budge. When she looked up, the snake had already gotten back on its stomach and was speeding towards them, an irritated glint in its yellow eyes. _"Impedimenta!"_ she screamed, terror gripping her heart. The snake was thrown off for a moment, but it lunged forward again, catching Hermione in her right calf.

Before she blacked out, Hermione heard a sweet, familiar voice call out, _"Incarcerous!"_ several times.

_Harry_, she thought happily. _He's come to save me._

----x----

Disclaimer: (Sorry, I forgot to put this in the prologue.) Harry Potter and all of its counterparts belong to J.K. Rowling. I am simply using them for means of entertainment/mischief/living out my fantasies. I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I claim to. In other words, PLEASE DON'T SUE ME!!!


	3. Recovery

**Clandestine Rendezvous**

_Chapter 2: Recovery_

----1----

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, leaned back against the back of the chair and studied his best friend Hermione's turbulent slumber. Sweat poured down her agony-etched face as she tossed and turned, moaning with pain. He was worried; Headmaster Dumbledore had said that the right head of the runespoor had bitten her—the right head was the most dangerous and the most poisonous of all three. Dumbledore, Snape, the Potions teacher, and Madame Hooch, the nurse, were working rigorously to concoct an antidote to the snake's poison. That is, Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey probably were. Snape hated Harry and his friends; except for obeying Dumbledore, he wouldn't ever help them.

His other best friend, Ron Weasley, paced back and forth at the foot of Hermione's hospital bed, occasionally stopping to look up at her, then returning to his roundabout path. Ginny, Ron's younger sister, read aloud from the "_Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_" textbook, looking under Runespoors.

[The following has been taken out of the actual textbook.] "…The Runespoor, though not in itself a particularly vicious beast, was once a favourite pet of Dark wizards, no doubt because of its striking and intimidating appearance. It is to the writings of Parselmouths who have kept and conversed with these serpents that we owe our understanding of their curious habits. It transpires from their records that each of the Runespoor's heads serves a different purpose. The left head, (as seen by the wizard facing the Runespoor) is the planner. It decides where the Runespoor is to go and what it is to do next. The middle head is the dreamer (Runespoors may remain stationary for days at a time, lost in glorious visions and imaginings). The right head is the critic and will evaluate the efforts of the left and middle heads with a continual irritable hissing. The right head's fangs are extremely venomous…."

Ron looked up again at Hermione's writhing body as he listened to Ginny. He walked swiftly to Hermione's side, scolding her in a barely controlled, hysterical voice. "Why did you have to stay and help Malfoy? He's an annoying git, and he hates us. You would have gained nothing from helping him! Look at the little wound he got from the runespoor, and look at you! He's healing fine! You got the brunt of the attack just by staying to try to save him! And now you're going to die…." Ron broke down, kneeling by the bed and wrapping his arms around his head and leaning his forehead against Hermione's mattress, shaking with silent sobs.

Harry and Ginny watched this painfully, each feeling a different sort of pity for Ron. "You can't know if Hermione's going to die for sure, Ron," Ginny said gently, closing the book. "Dumbledore will find a cure. I—we—know he will."

"And what if he doesn't?" Ron's head shot up and he glared at Ginny through red, swollen eyes. "I'll never let Malfoy get away for causing her death."

"Come on, Ron. Think on the bright side. Hermione will probably recover and all will be back the way it's supposed to be."

"You know, Harry," said Ron darkly, "this is partly your fault also." Harry looked shocked. "You know you weren't supposed to go into the Forbidden Forest. Why else would Hermione go there? She went to find _you_ because _you_ went off with Cho. Then she met up with Malfoy and saved him from the snake."

"Don't forget Ron," Harry argued, crimson tingeing his cheeks. "I was the one who saved her."

"…when you were the reason she was in danger in the first place!" Ron sniffed loudly.

Harry regarded him with a hurt expression on his face. "Ron, you know I would never knowingly harm Hermione," he said in a quiet voice.

"Who knows what you do and why you do it," retorted Ron, taking hold of Hermione's hand. He didn't look at Harry. "Because of you and because of Malfoy, Hermione is unconscious, delirious, and probably going to die."

-----

In the next bed over, behind a curtain, Draco Malfoy lay awake, listening to Ron's frantic babbling. "…because of Malfoy, Hermione is unconscious, delirious, and probably going to die."

Draco turned his head away so he didn't have to see the light shining through the thin curtains near the other bed. It wasn't that he felt bad about the mudblood becoming feverish and restless. Malfoys never felt bad about anything they did. They never regretted anything. And besides, it wasn't his fault the idiot girl had gotten hurt. In fact, it was most likely she who caused the snake to come out of nowhere to bite him. Served her right, getting bitten by that abomination.

He attempted to move his left arm, the one that was bitten by the runespoor. His muscles were stiff from disuse and sore from the poison, but it had obviously gotten past its crucial period of healing. He would regain complete use in a matter of two or three days.

But the mudblood… from Weasley's distress, it was obvious her condition was much worse than his. Draco could not remember what happened to her; in fact, he was pretty sure he had blacked out from the poison. Draco was appalled to realize he had fainted in front of Granger. No, not fainted—Malfoys never faint—he had fallen unconscious in front of Granger, who was both a mudblood and a girl.

Draco shook his head in horror. As long as Granger didn't remember, and the Boy Who Lived to Plague Handsome Blokes Such As Draco Himself kept quiet, he wouldn't have to be embarrassed in front of the whole school. He could just imagine the uproarious laughter overwhelming the Great Hall when that piece of news was revealed. He would lose his reputation, his place as the school's most magnetic male, **and** his fellow Slytherins' respect in one day. He could just see the vile Professor McGonagall hide a smile behind her goblet, or the batty headmaster, Dumbledore chuckle at him. He wouldn't be able to endure their laughter. No, Pothead and Mudblood must never utter a word about what happened to anyone.

Draco turned to stare at the ceiling again. That is, if Mudblood ever woke up. __

----2----

Hermione was washed into consciousness by waves of lavender and winds that blew away the pain biting constantly at her ankles, her thighs, her shoulders and her arms. The animal gnawing away at her insides was carried away on the wings of singing angels, each resplendent in dazzling white light. The cuts made by the serpentine creature that had attached itself to her form were washed away on the oceans of time.

Hermione wanted to stay here forever, to float in the peace of purple skies and lilac sea, but she knew that the land of healing could only last so long. So, with a heavy sigh and a final look at her healing grounds, she gently glided back up to the real world.

Her unconsciousness reacquainted itself with the heavy sense that those who "are" carry around with them. It recognized this heaviness as a "body" and "mass." It was also knowledge and wisdom. All the worldly matters of life slid back into place for Hermione as she awoke in the hospital wing, groggily recognizing the voices beyond the curtain.

"Of course, when Miss Granger awakes, Professor Dumbledore expects to see her in his office," Professor McGonagall, the Transfigurations teacher and the head of Gryffindor House, said in her stern, curt voice, just beyond the blue curtain from where filtered daylight cast her white sheets in cerulean light.

"That is completely out of the question! Miss Granger will need her rest! The potion we gave her was from an old text, and therefore may not work as well as it could to help her," Madame Pomfrey argued, voice hushed.

"Nevertheless, she will speak with Professor Dumbledore." Professor McGonagall's voice, unyielding as ever, pulled Hermione out of the sleepy recesses of semi-consciousness.

"How long have I been asleep?" she croaked.

Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall drew back the curtain to see Hermione watching them, a worried expression in her eyes, despite her weak condition. "Just a little over three weeks, dear," replied Madame Pomfrey, rushing to check Hermione's pulse.

"Three weeks?" cried Hermione in despair. Her voice cracked and she coughed violently, spitting up blood.

Madame Pomfrey was outraged. "Is this any condition for her to be in when she faces Dumbledore? Miss Granger needs rest, and lots of it." She took Hermione in her kind, but firm hands and laid her down onto the bed again. "Now you must take a nap, Miss Granger, before I make you take a potion."

Hermione answered with a distraught, but sleepy, "But all my homework!" before sinking into the pillow and snoring gently.

Professor McGonagall nodded at Madame Pomfrey. "Very well. I will convey that to Dumbledore. Goodday, Poppy."

----3----

Draco didn't bother to try to shove the food into his mouth. He could feel the whole of the Gryffindor table glaring daggers at him, whispering about how Granger's mysterious illness was due to something _he_ did. Normally, that wouldn't have fazed him, but having all of your most detested enemies watch your every move was not very appetizing. It had been two weeks since he was let out of the hospital wing, two weeks of being whispered about in hallways and pointedly ignored by every other house besides Slytherin—they cheered him when he came back from recovery, right after they got over the embarrassment of presuming he had no chance of living and not gone to visit him at all.

Dumbledore had not bothered to ask him what happened that day in the Forbidden Forest, assuming he would lie. And the crazy old man was right; Draco would lie, lie, and lie again, because the truth was mortifying and he could easily blame all on Granger.

Professor McGonagall seated herself back into the chair besides Dumbledore. It was obvious she had gone to visit the mudblood, and everyone fell silent as they waited for her to finish talking to Dumbledore. They watched Dumbledore's face intently, waiting for any signal of Granger's recovery. When the corners of his mouth tugged up, the whole Hall jumped up and cheered. Not that they actually felt so strongly for _Granger_, of course. It was because Draco's "plans" of "killing" a Gryffindor and "lowering moral" had been foiled, and everyone in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff hated Draco Malfoy as the epitome of the cruel Slytherin.

Some Slytherins also jumped up and cheered, evidently having no clue as to what they were cheering at until Draco shot scalding looks their way. They realized no one else in Slytherin was celebrating, and Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zambini sat down glumly, realizing that they had been applauding for something the Slytherins did not support. Draco felt strangely relieved. Granger was not dead. It meant that the others would stop whispering behind his backs and planning his demise.

One good thing had come out of the incident. Potter and Weasley's friendship had become strained, as Granger's injuries had come between them. Draco could see the longing look in Potter's eyes when he glanced at Weasley; he missed his friend immensely, and though Weasley felt the same way, the redhead's loyalty to Granger would only allow him to forgive Potter if Granger forgave Potter.

Draco scowled. Loyalty made him sick.

----4----

If Hermione could wish something away, it would be the inevitable meeting with Dumbledore. She had stayed in bed for several days, smiling as Harry and Ron piled present after present beside her bed. Most were from Gryffindor, some from other houses, and many from Harry and Ron themselves. Dumbledore came a few times himself, though he never spoke of the incident. Hermione was still too weak then. But not now.

Someone knocked on the door as Hermione hoisted herself up into a sitting position. "Come in," she said, hoping it wouldn't be Dumbledore.

It wasn't.

Draco Malfoy entered, glancing around the bed at the presents. Hermione saw something in his gray eyes —was it anger? Jealousy? Despair?—just before they hardened and turned to her.

"Granger," he said, stepping over the squealing, enchanted teddy bears sitting at the foot of her bed.

"What do you want?" asked Hermione suspiciously.

He gave her a scornful look. "What do you think? We were both involved in the accident, and therefore both of us will have to speak with Dumbledore." Hermione analyzed his face. His usual smirk was absent, and his eyes seemed strangely sincere through the barely concealed spite. "So our stories have to match." He scowled again, as if sharing anything with a mudblood was an insult.

"I am going to tell the truth," replied Hermione turning to look at the window overlooking the Quidditch field. "It's the simplest way."

"We will both get into much more trouble than is necessary," Malfoy rejoined.

"Then we'll take it."

"You are one stubborn cow, mudblood."

She whirled her head back to stare at him. "You nasty little bastard," she said, enunciating every word. "I helped you, and all you can do is call me names?"

He was about to speak again when Dumbledore walked in, hiding a small smile. The two angry teenagers did not notice the twinkle in his eyes.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, I was informed you were both here, in the hospital wing." He smiled kindly at Hermione. "Do you feel any better?" he asked her, noting her anger with an amused look.

"Yes, Professor. _Much_ better."

"Now then, you will be able to explain to me why you were in the Forbidden Forest, when it was, as its name implies, Forbidden?"

"Professor," Hermione replied, shooting a scathing glance at Malfoy, "Crookshanks went missing a few hours before. I thought I saw him standing near the Forbidden Forest so I went looking for him. I thought I would be inside in five minutes, but then I saw Malfoy being attacked by the runespoor."

Dumbledore's gaze moved on to Malfoy, who was smiling unpleasantly. "And you, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked softly. "Why were you in the Forest?"

"I saw Granger go in and thought I should bring her in. The runespoor attacked me with no reason." Hermione breathed sharply. Malfoy had not revealed that Harry was there.

Dumbledore watched the two closely for a few minutes before nodding. "Very well… I'll have to assign some sort of punishment… both of you will serve detention with Professor Vector for a week."

Professor Vector was the Arithmancy professor, a subject both Malfoy and Hermione were brilliant in.

"I'll expect you two to start next week." Dumbledore hid a chuckle as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Hermione and Malfoy stared at each other for a long time, wondering why Dumbledore had assigned them to such a lenient punishment. At last, Malfoy broke away and walked off, but not before sneering at Hermione and saying, "See you at detention, mudblood."

Hermione turned away and laid back down on her bed. She closed her eyes and told herself to sleep, but her mind took her back to the same question time and time again.

_Why didn't Malfoy tell Dumbledore about Harry?_

----x----

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of its counterparts belong to JK Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I claim to.

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	4. Confession

**Clandestine Rendezvous**

_Chapter 3: Confession _

----1----

Hermione stood by the window of the infirmary, watching as the Gryffindors levitated her presents out of the room. She still felt a little weak and her head throbbed when she thought too much, but otherwise, she had healed fairly well. Madam Pomfrey had assured her that this was natural—for victims of runespoors anyway—and that Hermione would get stronger in a few days if she didn't strain herself too much.

Ron had snorted at this. "If I know Hermione, the first thing she'll do when she gets out of the hospital wing is start on all the homework she missed." Hermione smiled. How true.

From her viewpoint, she could see the Quidditch field where Harry and Ron had just landed from Quidditch practice. They had promised to come back from practice early to help her finish moving the mounds of gifts back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione was about to wave at them when she saw Cho walk up to Harry. Ron nodded at them and departed, but not before he spotted Hermione and waved. _I'll be right there,_ he mouthed. Hermione nodded, then turned her attention back to Harry and Cho, who were talking together, and from the looks of it, talking quite seriously. Hermione couldn't hear them so she read the intent looks on their faces instead.

When they finished Cho took a few steps back from a stunned Harry, took the hand of a Ravenclaw nearby, and walked off without so much as a glance in Harry's direction. Harry gaped at her retreating figure for quite some time, as if dazzled by the shine of her black hair swaying in the wind. When he finally could control himself, he promptly turned and stalked off in the other direction.

Hermione was staggered, but also quite excited.

It was apparent that Cho had broken up with Harry—something no one would have expected, considering their recent closeness in the last couple of weeks. What was better was that Harry was no longer forbidden to Hermione and now she could, and would, make her move. She had been planning and hoping since the beginning of the year to tell Harry how she felt, and this was as good a time as any.

She glanced back at the hospital room behind her. The Gryffindors had long finished moving everything out, and only Neville was left to accompany her. Hermione smiled at the chubby boy.

"Go ahead, all right? I have a few things to get to before I go back to the Gryffindor Tower."

Neville looked a little flustered, as if he thought leaving Hermione alone was a bad idea, but didn't voice his objections. He nodded and scuttled off. Hermione slung her bookbag, already weighed down by extra textbooks, and headed off, ready to find Harry.

----2----

"What was their excuse?"

Dumbledore looked over the tips of his half-moon glasses at Professor McGonagall. It was Saturday afternoon, and he was enjoying some lemon drops in his office and reading the _Daily Prophet_ when the deputy headmistress came in, her agitation barely masked. He motioned for her to take a seat, which she did so quite unwillingly.

"Evidently, Crookshanks went into the Forest, Miss Granger went after him, and Mr. Malfoy went after Miss Granger to bring her back."

McGonagall blinked. "Dumbledore, you _know_ that there are _several_ holes in that argument. For example, what reason would a very shrewd cat have to enter the Forest?"

"We cannot know what a cat thinks," chuckled Dumbledore, "just as we cannot know what Transfiguration professors think."

McGonagall cocked an eyebrow doubtfully. "It seems you know _exactly_ what Transfiguration professors think."

Dumbledore only smiled. "Care for a lemon drop?"

"Even if Miss Granger's cat did go into the Forest, that's no reason to be chasing after it. The forest is off limits. Don't the students understand that?"

"Many don't. I seem to remember a young witch many years ago who liked to go exploring the Forest when I was just starting to teach at Hogwarts." Dumbledore looked pointedly at McGonagall, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips.

McGonagall blushed, remembering her old school days.

"Well, that witch certainly knows better now."

"You know as well as I do that when ties to something are especially strong, one would risk anything to protect it. Harry Potter himself is an example of the 'something.' So, of course, is Miss Granger's cat."

"Mr. Malfoy does not like Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, or Miss Granger. He would have no reason to follow her unless he was planning to get her into trouble."

"We can't use dislike as a factor, Minerva. Miss Granger obviously dislikes Mr. Malfoy, but she saved him from the runespoor, nonetheless."

"But she's _Hermione Granger_! Their personalities are as different as night and day!"

"I think you will find that night and day are not so different at all, Minerva, if you observe closely."

McGonagall passed this off as another one of Dumbledore's 'gems' to think about later.

"And what about the runespoor? Why did it attack Malfoy?"

"They didn't say."

"Albus!"

"I do not think they knew, either. Don't fret over this. I have a theory," said Dumbledore, folding up his paper, "that all will be made clear soon. Patience is a virtue."

McGonagall repressed an irritated sigh. "You know as well as I do that Crookshanks was **not** the reason Miss Granger went into the forest."

Dumbledore said nothing, though the glimmer in his eyes said enough for McGonagall.

"Are you going to ask them tell the truth?"

"Do you think if I asked, they would? They may be children, Minerva, but they know the meaning of loyalty."

McGonagall regarded Dumbledore, concluding from his relaxed posture and his content tone of voice that he already knew why the two students had been out there that day.

"What are you going to do about the runespoor? You can't just leave it running rampant through the Forest."

"Hagrid and I took care of the problem. The runespoor will not terrorize whatever else is in the Forest, although there are many things that would not be fazed by it," replied Dumbledore, giving Professor McGonagall a pointed look, which, she knew by experience, meant it was time to depart.

"Well, goodday, Dumbledore."

"Goodday to you, too, Minerva."

----3----

She found him in the Room of Requirement.

It was dark and cold, the room frigid with frozen emotion that waited to be let loose. When she had last been here, it had been filled with what was necessary to practice Defense Against Dark Arts in Dumbledore's Army, the organization that was led by Harry in practicing spells that would help them. Now, it was cold and empty, the carpets having departed from the room, the warmth having seeped out, and it was comprised of only damp stone, a single flickering torch, and a lonely boy.

He sat on the cold stone floor, leaning against a wall perpendicular to the door and staring at the torch blankly. The edges of his eyes were red from tears and he was taking several deep, though uneven, breaths, as if to calm himself.

Hermione felt rather guilty; she shouldn't be pressuring him at such a vulnerable period. Harry was so kind and understanding—he would be crushed between remembering Cho and deciding what to do with the burden of the truth about Hermione's feelings. But another little voice in her head told her that if she missed her chance today, she would not get another chance to declare her love.

Hermione took a deep breath and entered.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice sounding rather strangled. Harry looked up at her and tried to smile. He failed desperately. Hermione ignored the pounding in her ears and the thumping of her chest as she knelt down next to him. "Harry, are you all right?"

He nodded his head, though two tears splattered on his lap.

"Oh, Harry." Hermione drew her arms around Harry's neck as he buried his face into her should and sobbed. His unruly locks tickled her cheek and her nose, and she found herself running her hand through them comfortingly. The feel of his warmth sent shivers up her spine.

"It'll be all right. Cho didn't deserve someone as wonderful as you are," she said, trying to comfort him. He said something that came out garbled and incoherent. "Sorry?"

Hermione loosened her hug as Harry pulled away; however, she did not let go. He repeated his words.

"No, I didn't deserve Cho. I didn't love her as I should have, and she knew it," Harry said, wallowing in his despair. "I'm such an idiot! I don't deserve anyone!"

"No! Don't say that," Hermione urged, wiping away one of his tears with her sleeve.

"But it's true. I didn't deserve Parvati, I didn't deserve Cho... I don't deserve you, I don't deserve Ginny, I don't deserve Ron. I shouldn't have any friends at all! I didn't deserve Sirius; he died because of me!" Harry broke into sobs anew, remembering the night his godfather died to save him.

"It _isn't_ true, Harry. You are kind and considerate... faulted like all humans, but you aren't terrible. Besides, lots of people would give a limb to be in your company. You are the Boy Who Lived! You defied Voldemort four times! You have a brilliant light within you, one that draws people to you... it's because of this light that people like you, that people trust you. Don't cry.... after all, Cho was the one who had another boyfriend all along."

"**Don't** make assumptions, Hermione," said Harry, suddenly defensive. "She met the guy only a few days ago. She didn't even go out with him yet."

"How do you know? After all, she might just be lying." Hermione lovingly lifted Harry's glasses away and gazed into his moist emerald eyes. "She doesn't see your unique glow..."

He broke the gaze with an air almost like guilt. "No, she saw it. She saw so much, Hermione."

"No matter how much she saw, there are people who would respect and care for you more." Hermione's heart started to race in anticipation. "People like Ginny, like Maya, the fourth year, like Candace from Ravenclaw, like Eloise Midgen." Harry grinned through his tears at the thought of being Eloise's boyfriend.

"Like... like me."

It took a while before what Hermione said finally sank in for Harry. He slowly turned his head to look at her, stunned and disbelieving, no longer weeping.

"You?"

Hermione nodded gently.

"You?..."

A long, awkward pause followed, in which Harry stared at her, slow realization dawning on his face. The silence was overwhelming and the air was thick with eagerness. But the longer she waited, the more her hope faded and the room seemed to darken with shadow.

"Hermione..." began Harry softly, too softly. "...you are like my sister. You are my best friend, someone I can always lean on... but I don't _feel_ towards you in _that way_. Please understand... love cannot be forced... I... I... I don't like you."

Hermione's smile completely faded. She swallowed as she got up and her eyes clouded over with moisture. "Of course. I'm just Hermione... bushy-haired Hermione that you copy notes off of... nerdy Hermione who loves houseelves... Hermione the know-it-all, Hermione the perfect, Hermione who cannot be loved romantically."

"I didn't say that!" Harry said, scrambling to his feet. "You are special to me, just not in that way!"

"Sure I am...." Hermione backed out of the room, her eyes never leaving Harry. "I'm _so_ special." She turned and ran out, as tears trickled down her cheeks, falling uncaught onto the empty stone halls.

"Hermione!"

She ignored Harry's call, choosing instead to pretend that she couldn't hear him. Along the halls and down the stairs she ran, paying no heed to the blatantly interested stares from the second-years who moved out of her way. Professor Snape exited his classroom just as Hermione sped past.

"NO RUNNING! THAT'S TEN POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!" he called after her. She barely heard him.

Finally, she reached her destination, where she always went to escape her troubles.

Madam Pince, the librarian, looked up sharply as Hermione entered. She frowned in disapproval at Hermione's crumpled robes and tearstained face. Hermione didn't spare her a second glance.

Hermione headed straight for the back of the library, where few ever ventured, and made her way to an old, dusty table hidden amid thick, musty books that had not been checked out in years. She plopped down in a creaky chair next to the table, pulled out of her bookbag a thick history textbook, opened it up to its marker, and began to read.

---4---

Ginny looked around the Gryffindor table. "Where's Hermione?" she asked finally. Dean Thomas, who sat across from her, shrugged.

"Isn't she supposed to get out of the hospital wing today?"

"She did. I moved all of her stuff out," replied Thomas. "And then Ron had to come and crash into one of the giant squealing bears, making it cry."

"I could hear the bear crying and I was in a classroom seven doors away," added Luna, who had wandered over from the Ravenclaw table. 

"It was'n my faul'!" insisted Ron through a mouth full of casserole. "I wann'd ta see 'ermione! How would I know if dere's a gian' bear makin' its way down the halls?"

"But where's Hermione?"

"Library," replied Luna vaguely, smiling at Ron before walking off.

"Library? Again? She shouldn't be working now! We're going to have a party for her in the common room tonight!" Ginny looked at Ron. "You will come with me to get her, right?"

"After dinner!" Ron said, swallowing the casserole.

"And you, Harry?" Ginny peered at Harry, who was unusually quiet. "I know you're hurting over Cho," Ginny said tenderly. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't support your friend."

Harry suddenly glared at her fiercely. "Don't you dare say that. I do support her. I do care for her!"

Ginny was taken back. "All right. Then come!"

Harry cast his eyes back onto his plate. "I think she should be left alone for a while, Ginny," he said in the barest of whispers so that only she and Ron could hear. "Don't ask why."

Ginny considered this. She fixed Harry with an odd look. "Fine."

Harry looked strangely relieved.

----x----

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me in any way, shape, or form.

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	5. An Unexpected Encounter

Clandestine Rendezvous 

_Chapter 4: An Unexpected Encounter_

----1----

Draco Malfoy stared at the new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, who looked as if the only encounter with the Dark Arts she would ever have would be an evil shopkeeper charging her one Sickle more than necessary on her hair products. Her cerulean blue eyes sparkled with sickening happiness, her lips glistened with disgustingly bright lip-gloss, and her robes—they were hot pink! Pink robes reminded him painfully of the Yule Ball held in his fourth year and the night spent languishing in boredom next to the ever-annoying Pansy Parkinson, whose complexion was **not **helped by that dress.

Even though Dumbledore was a batty old coot, Draco would have _never_ expected him to hire such a teacher. The nut had gone off his rocker for sure this time.__

"Can anyone tell me what are the Unforgivable Curses?" her melodious voice rang out. She walked past Malfoy, smiling at every student. Malfoy could hear the male Slytherins breath in deeply and sigh dreamily. Pathetic.

"Draco Malfoy?" she said, glancing at her list of students. It was almost two months since the start of term—real teachers normally knew their students names pretty well by now.

Draco leaned back against his chair casually, knowing all of the Slytherin girls were watching him. He would have no problem—after all, he had known the curses since he was seven. "The Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse."

He surveyed his impeccable nails as the girls giggled at the sound of his suave, suave voice. 

Professor Specia simpered again. Nauseating.

"Very good!"

_What kind of a teacher is she, anyway?_ wondered Draco. _She flirts openly with seventh years, forgets curriculum, and confuses boggarts with yogurt. She is obviously in no way competent enough to be a Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, much less mine._

Professor Specia glanced at him at that moment, as if she knew what he was thinking.

_Maybe she can read minds,_ thought Draco with a laugh. That's _how she got this job._

Most of the other Slytherin boys were smitten by her, probably because of the perfume she wore. Draco recognized it. It was one of his aunt Bellatrix's favourites, called _Sinuous Flame,_ described on the bottle as _"dangerous", "seductive," "alluring," _and it promised to _"arouse dormant desires in every man who walks by."_ Sadly, it worked on sixteen-year-old boys, too.

Due to his mother and his aunt's unhealthy interest in perfumes, Draco had already worked up an immune system against it. Pitiful, really—ever since he was nine, he didn't have any reaction to perfumes at all.

"Can anyone else give it a try? Draco?" her voice cut through his thoughts coated revoltingly with sugar.

"What was the question again, Professor?" he asked as the other Slytherins gasped. Professor Specia called him _Draco._ Both the boys and the girls scowled in jealousy.

"Tsk, tsk. You should pay attention better," she said with _another_ smile. Then her eyes widened in feigned shock when she "realized" her slip-up.

"Oh! I'm sorry, _Mr. Malfoy._ I'm just _soo_ new to teaching, I _can't_ remember to be _formal_. It's rather_ boring_ being so _formal_ all the time, isn't it?"

The boys immediately agreed, brightening considerably when they realized she wasn't paying any special attention to Draco. Draco made a rude noise.

"The question, Mr. Malfoy, was this: What do you say to produce the Cruciatus Curse?"

"Crucio," replied Draco, lip curling in derision. "And what is boring is this class. If you don't mind me saying so, we learned about the Curses in fourth year, when one Professor Moody taught us. We practiced them, too."

The boys gasped at his rudeness (not that they really understood rudeness, considering they were rude everyday) and the girls smiled at his audacity. Professor Specia was unfazed.

"That was two year ago, Mr. Malfoy. I am still required to teach you these Curses," she said pleasantly.

Draco snorted briefly at the irony of learning the Unforgivable Curses, punishable by imprisonment and execution, from an empty-headed woman like Specia before returning to his wandering thoughts.

----2----

Saturday came and went as usual—irritatingly tedious. Draco insulted Weasel a few times, causing him to color up to the roots of his red hair, which couldn't really be called red in comparison to the crimson of his face. He tried to insult Scarhead, but for some reason, Potter disappeared for most of the day. Of course, the Pansy revealed to him that Chang had dumped Potter and the ninny was probably hiding somewhere and crying, so all was set right again; even if he didn't make the idiot's life worse, Potter was already suffering.

There was the homework to be done, which he finished—after all, he was Malfoy, the most brilliant male student in the school. The essay for Potions was easy; it _was_ his favorite subject. Sixteen inches for Binns was unfair, but he finished it anyway. Arithmancy was a breeze, Transfiguration not difficult at all, and he finished Herbology in twenty minutes.

Everything came so easy for him—life, love, liberty. He was an exceptional student, who handled spells well—it was expected of him. He was the single most giggled over male in school—well, maybe besides Potter. But it didn't bother him; he had no interest in the myth women call love. He was a pureblood, so no one would doubt his position in the magical community. Everything came to Draco on a silver platter, uncomplicated, unfettered, and therefore, entirely monotonous and wearisome.

So more interesting events had happened: the Dark Lord rose again, his father was lugged off to Azkaban, dementors were on the loose... that did not change daily life. Even his attempts to ruin the Golden Trio were typical now, whereas they had at least brightened his day a few years back.

Draco wanted something more. It wasn't just variety. After all, he could just run away and live his days out on the Muggle streets if he wanted variety. No... it was something hazy, something that he couldn't pinpoint exactly—as of yet.

----3----

Madam Pince ushered Hermione out of the library at exactly eight. Not that she needed to stay in the library, of course; she had already finished all of her homework. Hermione was able to block out her despair when she concentrated on her homework, a habit developed when she first started school and everyone laughed at her studious ways. After she was done with her essays, she read the yellowing, dusty books piled by her side, mostly full of gibberish about transfiguring oneself.

Now, as she walked towards the Gryffindor common room, dreading seeing Harry again and talking to him, the memory of what happened earlier that day struck her. She paused right before she turned into the corridor in which the Fat Lady hung. She could hear the sound of uproarious laughter and loud crashes coming out of the room, barely muffled by two feet of stone wall. The Gryffindors were having a party.

Hermione backed away from the corridor, knowing that if she went inside, they would force her to celebrate with them. She would have to face Harry again, a prospect that terrified her. So she fled blindly, knowing that they wouldn't miss her. When she was far enough away for the merrymaking to be drowned out by other noises, Hermione slowed her run and looked around, her chest pounding and slightly lightheaded from lack of blood. Madam Pomfrey's stern voice popped into her head. _"NO EXERTION, MISS GRANGER!"_

She had wandered into a collection of abandoned corridors and staircases that led everywhere and nowhere. The halls were dimly lighted, yet she could see pretty well. Flickering candles, enchanted to burn forever if needed, lined the corridors, though they seemed to cast more shadows than light. To her right, a stone wall separated her from several feet of air and the Hogwarts grounds, where she could see the lake shimmer in the moonlight. Windows were carved into the stone, in the ancient, gothic style that was popular a hundred or so years ago. To her left, wooden doors lined up neatly, though dust covered their knobs and the numbers painted on in black were stripping away.

She opened up a door to her immediate left, peeking in curiously. The stone room was small and sparsely furnished. A rusting cot stood along one damp wall, an old oak table along the other. A small trunk, unused for ages, stood at the foot of the bed. A grime-coated window faced the door, spreading gray moonlight into the room, painting its furniture a mournful, almost regretful color. Hermione thought it best not to enter.

She concluded that she had wandered into a forgotten wing of the castle, probably originally for visiting or misbehaving students that provided them with their own rooms instead of letting them spend their time in common rooms. Unneeded for so long, caretakers forgot to clean and maintain them, leaving the rooms to decay away with the years. She wondered if even Dumbledore knew about these rooms.

Being here calmed Hermione, as if she had stepped into a place and time in history untouched by anyone else. Even the old, archaic windows—the kinds that were curved at the top and had no glass panes—told a period before the current, unsettling time, where dark wizards ran amok and people lived in disguised fear.

Feeling slightly fatigued, yet loathing to intrude upon any of the aging rooms, Hermione found a stairway leading downwards into shadow at the end of the hall. She sat down on the second step, leaned her head against the wall, intending to rest there for a while before leaving. Before long, the soft breeze had persuaded her into a light sleep.

When she awoke, Hermione realized she was cold, despite her thick robes. The indigo of the night had deepened into a dark ebon-gray hue, the zenith moon having reached its apex. _How long have I slept?_ she wondered groggily.

When she looked up, she met a pair of steely grey eyes, glinting in the reflected moonlight.

Only one person she knew had those hard, calculating eyes.

-----

_She's waking up_, Draco noted. Granger shivered a bit, raising her head. She met his eyes and her own brown eyes widened. She stiffened visibly, frowning.

"Why did you save me?" The question came out before he could stop himself. She blinked in surprise.

"Huh?"

Now that he had started, he had to continue. "That day, three weeks ago... why did you save me from the runespoor?"

She relaxed and answered, "It was natural for me." That only confused him even more.

"But you know I hate you."

"I don't like you that much, either, Malfoy," she said wryly, straightening up. "But it was not a matter of preference. You were in danger and it was in my nature to help."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. Slytherins never would have thought about the situation the way she did. It was stupid to stay and help when you yourself could be in danger, too.

Granger moved over to one of the windows that looked out at the Hogwarts grounds. She leaned against it casually, gazing at the moon absentmindedly, as if she didn't see the danger in being alone with a Slytherin.

"What about you? Why didn't you tell Dumbledore about Harry?"

"That's easy," Draco said, moving from his position on one of the stairs to a window a meter away from Granger. "You see, it is not becoming for a Malfoy to fall unconscious in front of a woman, much less a mudblood like you." Satisfaction spread through him as she stiffened again.

"Therefore, you and your boyfriend will not tell anyone what happened that day, and I will not tell Dumbledore about Pothead."

"Harry is not my boyfriend," Granger said, a touch of despair invading her voice. "Nor will he ever be."

_So that's why she was wandering in the halls when she should be in the Gryffindor dorms. She can't face Scarhead, _Draco mused with a pleased smirk.

"Besides, don't you owe me? I saved your life," Granger said, turning to scrutinize him.

Draco winced. He had never thought of it that way, partly because his subconscious would not allow him to think that way. Falling unconscious in front of Granger was embarrassing enough—owing a debt to a mudblood was plain disgraceful.

"Fine, what do you want me to do?"

She smiled craftily. "I won't use it here, now."

Draco clenched his fists. The little bitch was saving it so that he, Draco Malfoy, would be indebted to her for god knows how long. Suddenly, he realized something. "You're thinking like a Slytherin," he said, amused. "You aren't the perfect little Gryffindor everyone thinks you are."

She fixed an exasperated look on him. "Don't you understand, Malfoy? Everyone has a little of the other house in them. I would do very well in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff too, or so the Sorting Hat said."

Draco grinned haughtily. "I'm Slytherin all the way."

"And that's supposed to be good?" Granger retorted, rolling her eyes.

"Certainly better than being entirely Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff. Slytherin is superior," he said.

"Sure it is," replied Granger sarcastically. "So superior that Gryffindor has surpassed you in everything for years now."

Draco was affronted. "We are still superior. It's only the teachers prefer Scarhead and so award him more points for stupid tasks."

"I don't see facing Voldemort four times as particularly stupid," cried Granger, glaring at him with unexpected passion. But, then again, she _was_ still in love with Potter.

"You Slytherins are just pathetic cowards," she spat.

"Oh, we're cowards? Well, you Gryffindors are too trusting. You don't realize that your closest friends could stab you in the back any time because you give your faith so blindly. At least we know how to be cautious." Draco was angry, angry that a mudblood had called him a coward, but also angry because it was true, and he couldn't deny it.

"We have _real_ friends, who would stick by us no matter what!" Granger shot back, blazing with righteous anger.

"Don't you realize that no one can be completely trusted? Look at Mad-eye Moody! He was actually the younger Crouch!"

"That's truly sad, Malfoy, if you think you can trust no one. How are you supposed to gain happiness that way?" Granger sounded as if she pitied him. Draco couldn't stand pity.

"Power means happiness," he replied, glaring at her.

"Friendship means happiness," contradicted Granger. "Love means happiness."

"Love?" scoffed Draco. "Such as your love for Potter?"

She stared at him in shock.

"Yes, I know of your adoration for him. It's so obvious, Mudblood. Anyone could see if they pay attention. Aren't you sad that he rejected you? After all, he loves someone else." Her jaw worked, though she kept silent. Rage swirled in her brown eyes, silvered by the moonlight that was now streaming through the windows. "Love does not mean happiness."

"How would you know? You never loved anyone in your life," Granger replied, her voice hard and controlled. Still, Draco could hear the fury beneath the ice. A memory of a furious voice echoing through freezing dungeons suddenly surfaced, one that Draco forced down immediately.

"I know all too well, Granger," he replied, a forlorn tone creeping into his voice. He chastised himself inwardly. What was he doing? He couldn't show weakness to anyone. He couldn't reveal to her anymore than he already did. But already, Granger had changed stances, now looking at him with undisguised interest.

"What do you mean?" she asked softly, _tenderly._

Damn all women with their "empathic" ways. Like they could really understand.

"Like I would tell you, Granger," Draco snarled, turning away.

"Oh." Granger blinked, then changed the subject, as if she knew he didn't want to tell her.

"Well... Pansy sure loves you..." she said lamely.

Draco let out a disdainful laugh that sounded more like a bark than anything. He could see Granger hide a smile out of the corner of his eye. "Love? Parkinson doesn't know its meaning. She thinks that if she can get with the most powerful Slytherin, then she has it made. After all, I am the Slytherin Prince, and my gorgeous looks only add to the deal."

Granger made a rude noise that Draco chose to ignore. After all, she knew probably knew more hexes than him, thanks to the "Dumbledore's Army" deal last year.

"She doesn't love me. She lusts, and that's all." Granger gave him a compassionate glance. Draco hated it.

"Don't look at me like that." Draco clenched his fists in anger. He would never stand to be pitied, especially by Granger.

"In what way?" she asked, puzzled.

"Like you understand. Like you want to understand, to feel bad for me. I don't need you sympathizing with me. I don't need anyone trying to comfort me. I don't need to be comforted."

She only gave him another sad look.

Draco turned and stalked off, leaving Granger back at the window, gazing after him with that hateful empathetic look of hers.

----4----

Hermione finally climbed into the Gryffindor common room, after half-listening to the Fat Lady admonish her for being out at two o'clock in the morning. She was tired; the conversation with Malfoy had taken a lot out of her.

The fire in the common room had died down to glowing embers. Around the room was scattered garbage—pieces of ripped up paper, butterbeer spilled over the red and gold rug in front of the fireplace, and remnants of a giant poster of a golden lion bearing the initials HG in red tearing up a puny, green and gold snake bearing the initials DM. Giant windows at one end of the room set silver shadows across the floor, giving the room a quiet melancholy that permeated throughout.

Hermione dropped her bookbag on a squashy chair in front of the fire, which she stoked with a poker. A worried voice called across the room to her.

"Hermione! Where were you?"

She looked up to find Ron standing in his vermilion pajamas by the staircase, a present from Fred and George, who were doing quite well indeed, and therefore they fit Ron perfectly. She smiled at him sheepishly. "I fell asleep."

"In the library?" he asked disbelievingly. "Wouldn't Madam Pince have thrown you out anyway?"

"No, Ron, not in the library. I... lost my way and found myself in an unfamiliar place, so I fell asleep. I'm still pretty weak, you know." His expression immediately softened as he rushed forward to support her to a chair.

"I'm not that weak, Ron," she said, a grin spreading across her face despite her drowsy condition.

"We were having a party for _you_, y'know," he said reproachfully. "You should have had the kindness to come. We wondered where you were. When Ginny suggested that you committed suicide, I swear Harry turned ten shades of white!" He sniggered. When Hermione didn't smile, he got up and went over to a table, under which there piled several wrapped presents.

"These are for you. More tokens of appreciation from your fellow Gryffindors. Of course, we all went broke," he joked painfully.

Hermione sighed. "Really, Ron, you shouldn't have."

"Except we did. Oh... and you remember that giant blue stuffed bear that squealed like crazy?"

Hermione nodded warily.

"It... got into an... accident." He pointed to a mess of blue fur and stuffing. "Crookshanks went berserk for no reason. Of course, we couldn't sleep while it was crying, so many of us didn't get to bed until one...."

Hermione smiled. It was obvious Ron had something to do with it. After all, Crookshanks liked the big bear; he enjoyed snuggling up in its warm fur and would never hurt it without a cause. But she didn't say anything.

"I'm going to bed, Ron. I'm rather tired." He nodded and jumped to her side. "Really, Ron, I think I can walk all the way upstairs by myself."

He stepped back, looking rather flustered, his ears turning pink. "Yeah... Hey, 'Mione?"

"Hmm?" Hermione stopped in the middle of the stairs, turning back to look at Ron.

"Are you mad at Harry?"

"What for?" _Oh my god. Does Ron know?_ Her stomach twisted in fright as the possibilities whirled through her head.

"For going to the Forest and getting you into trouble."

"Oh... no. It wasn't his fault, really. Don't hold it against him." Hermione felt the knot in her stomach loosen. Ron didn't suspect anything. Rather, he looked fairly relieved.

"Well, g'night," he said with a smile, ascending the stairs on the other side, to the sixth year boys' dorm.

"Night." Hermione was suddenly drained. She entered the girls' dorm and collapsed on her bed, where she promptly fell asleep without so much as taking off her shoes.

----x----

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Ms. Rowling. I am but an insignificant daydreamer who transcribes her ideas as words.

A big thank you goes to my reviewers! I have more than twenty reviews for only three measly chapters and one pathetic prologue! I feel so loved!

The last chapter was, in the words of my good friend who will remain unnamed, a "transition chapter." It was a little boring, wasn't it? I hope this chapter was better!

Wow... I have one thousand more words in this chapter compared with the last one....

I apologize for any mistakes I have made in spelling or grammar. If my word choice is not very British, well, that's because I live in Washington, USA... XD! For this story, I'm trying to use British vocabulary, so I'm using favourite instead of favorite and mum instead of mom.

Onward towards the little blue button that makes you review!!! Please criticize! I'd like to know if something is wrong!


	6. Autumn Cleaning

**Clandestine Rendezvous **

_Chapter 5: Autumn Cleaning _

---1----

Hermione curled up in a corner of the common room, persuing a book by the light of a single candle, sipping one of Madam Pomfrey's potions as well. It was still the middle of the day, but the sky had clouded over with storm clouds and the rain poured down from the heavens in torrents, as if the gods themselves were crying. Thankfully, the common was rather hushed at this time, as many students had resigned to their homework.

_The occurrence of Metamorphmagi is not hereditary. It is rare having two Metamorphmagi in one family over even five generations. Two Metamorphmagi in one immediate family is unheard of. The event of one being a Metamorphmagus occurs from a mutation in one's magical construction... _

The book she read, _History of the Metamorphmagi_, was one of the thick, antique ones she had skimmed over and checked out last night in the library, just before she had wandered among the halls and had the confusing conversation with Malfoy.

She had an actual conversation with Malfoy.

The full concept and its consequences had finally hit her, now that she had time to think over last night's events. It was a rather strange conversation really... Malfoy was half arrogant, half snide, and a hundred percent annoying. Was she fooling herself, or did he sound rather sad when she goaded him about not loving anyone at all? But, since it was very unlikely she would meet him like they did last night again, she dismissed the event and returned to her book.

Ron called over to her. "Hermione! What does properties does calcite have in the Draught of Dreams?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You really should listen in class. I wasn't there for three weeks, and I still know the answer."

"Well, what is it?"

"Calcite blends and evens the texture so that the concoction is stable." Hermione glanced over at the bulky armchairs where Harry and Ron were curled up, discussing their homework. Ron gave her a grin before returning to his essay, which, even though he had been working on it for an hour, was still only a couple inches in length. Harry was faring better, having already approximately six inches already.

Harry glanced up at her gratefully. Hermione found she couldn't look at those emerald eyes of his, so she looked away, flustered.

_...Metamorphmagi must register with the Ministry of Magic in the same way Animagi must register. There have been only a few Metamorphmagi in the past century... _

Hermione felt her mind wander again, much to her consternation. _Why was Malfoy in that forgotten wing?_

She slammed the book shut and, ignoring the interested glances of the other Gryffindors, made her way up to the dormitories. Her head pounded horribly, making it difficult to think at all. She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto her bed as an owl slammed into the girl's dormitory window, it's eyes rolling comically. Hermione rushed over, letting the scrawny, starved owl in.

"Where have you been? You should have come at breakfast," she said, glancing at the scroll tied to its leg. It was addressed to her in the pointy script that Viktor often used. Hermione untied the letter and sent the owl to the Owlery, feeling distinctly joyous. She had written Viktor many times over the summer, and yet he did not reply her. She assumed he had found a girlfriend and forgotten about her, which had disappointed her greatly. But Viktor wasn't that kind of guy, and this letter, thick and heavy, proved it.

_My dear Hermione,  
  
_

_How are things at Hogwarts? It is to my great sadness I have not been able to write you over the summer because of my Quidditch practice and some issues that have arisen here at home. In answer to your questions, I am very well, my family is not faring badly, and I _have_ been able to read the new book you recommended to me. _Avoiding Permanent Quidditch Injuries_ is amazing—I have used it much these past months and my teammates also. _

_I long to see you again, Hermione. This cold autumn makes me terribly sick for your warm school, which impressed me much two years ago. The new training building where my team practices does not have central heating. The mornings are freezing. Perhaps I can visit London soon, do you think? It would be very nice to see Hogwarts and you again._

_How are your friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasely? Are they in any danger from You-know-who? Due to your asking, I looked for information on Karkaroff, but he did not appear here anymore. He is missing. I could not care less, so I wonder, why would you? He is an idiotic, evil man._

_I received your letter on the runespoor. It is terrible you had gone through so much pain! I simply cannot understand why that boy with you, Molfay (is it?), did not protect you from it! It is the duty of gentlemen to protect ladies! Of course, I did a little research on runespoors, contacted a few friends..._

Hermione folded the letter up as Ginny burst into the room. "Come see! Ron and Seamus are charming mice to duel each other!" Ginny sniggered. Hermione nodded and tucked the letter behind her regretfully, under a pillow, and followed Ginny out.

----2----

After she came out of the library, the night having already deepened into shadowy indigo, Hermione found herself meandering through the corridors again. She felt odd, as if she really didn't want to go back to her dorm right then. Before she knew what she was doing, her feet carried her back to the spot where she and Malfoy had conversed the other night.

Hermione leaned against one of the archaic windows, looking out at the Hogwarts grounds. The leaves shedded from deciduous trees scattered over the grass, painted ghostly oranged by the moonlight. She found a sense of comfort here, so far away from the magnified racket made daily by the students. She frequently got headaches from the clamor in the rest of the castle, making it impossible for her to concentrate on her work or whatever else she happened to be doing. She had gone to the library for most of the day, but it closed at eight, leaving her to return to a common room that left her disoriented and irritated.

Here, there was a peaceful, drowsy slience that she soaked in appreciatively, relaxing for the first time that day. Her head quieted and she was able to think. So absorbed was she in the comfort that she did not notice a figure standing only a few paces away, half hidden in the shadows created by the flickering candles.

"We meet again, Mudblood," he drawled, steeping forward to allow the flames to cast his face in striking relief. Hermione glanced at Malfoy, noting how his cheekbones elongated and contorted in the candlelight, and, paired with his pointed face, generated an almost elvish look.

"It seems women just can't get enough of me," he sighed, a derisive smirk spreading over heis features. "They come back over and over again to where I once stood, just to feel my presence. Not that _you_ can be considered a woman, of course." Malfoy's chin tilted upwards in arrogance. "You're only a mudblood."

Normally, this would have incensed Hermione, but strangely enough, tonight she felt no anger at all. Her mood was too good to be dampened by Malfoy. In fact, she wasn't even listening to him.

Malfoy scowled when he realized Hermione wasn't paying attention to him—after all, weren't all women prostrate to his charms?

Finally, she spoke. "But you came back too," she said thoughtfully, brushing a strand of her bushy hair out of her eyes.

Malfoy was taken back for a moment, but he recovered his poise fairly quickly. "Very acute observation, Granger," he said, voice dripping sarcasm. "I can wander if I want to—I'm Draco Malfoy—and besides, coming here was just to see if you would turn up. Your presence here shows that even Muggles can't resist the Malfoy charm."

Hermione snorted. "Some charm."

"You doubt it? If I wanted to, I could make you lightheaded, weak at the knees, crawling and begging me for a kiss."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

"If I _wanted_ to."

"You are an incorrigible git, Malfoy," she said, shaking her head dismissively.

Apparently, Malfoy was feeling very full of himself. "But you can't deny that I'm a handsome, charming, intelligent bloke with hair to die for," he replied, looking as as if he to wanted summon a mirror to preen in right about then.

"Go ahead and feed your ego, you bigheaded fop."

"If I'm a fop, then your boyfriends Scarhead and Weasel King have the IQs of an eggplant," He said with a sneer.

"Don't you dare say that again! They aren't my boyfriends," Hermione snapped. Then she remembered something she had been dying to ask Malfoy all day, though she would have never gone up to him to ask. "Why were you here last night?"

Malfoy gave her an appraising look, as if judging her trustworthiness, before speaking. 

"Last year, when I was a prefect, I wandered the halls at night regularly worrying about the fate of the Malfoy family, prostrate before the damned Ministry and the Dark Lord. I couldn't sleep. One day, I took a turn in the halls I never found before, saw a door I never saw before. I entered and found a staircase leading up from in front of the Slytherin dungeons, up to this abandoned wing. It was more peaceful than any other part of the castle, so I decided to come back and check for it once I'm done patrolling. I forgot about it afterwards. One day this year, I found it again and came up here. I liked it, so I came back and found you."

Hermione watched him while he talked, marking the ethereal gleam his eyes took on when moonlight bounced into them.

"So... what do you think this place is? I get the feeling it's a wing used in the past for students that needed to be kept apart from the rest of the population."

"I don't think so. There is no record of any students not living in their own Houses and coming here. I think it's where guests lived, guest teachers or speakers," said Malfoy, appearing sincere.

"The beds don't seem like they were for guests." Hermione furrowed her brow, searching for possible explanations.

"This was used a long time ago. Beds weren't particularly soft back then."

"Still, why isn't it used now?"

"What if this is some sort of prison?"

Hermione gave Malfoy a sharp look. Hogwarts always seemed so benevolent, despite dangers that happened there. It was rather strange to think that there would be prisons within the castle, beside the dungeons.

"What if, when the dungeons were used for Slytherin and his students, the founders ordained a part of the castle for those dangerous who were kept here and not let out?"

It made sense. Malfoy said something sincere and it made sense.

"Then wouldn't it be locked up and hidden away so people like us wouldn't wander into it without meaning to?" Hermione asked, glancing around nervously for some sort of guard patrolling the halls.

"The door I came through seemed hidden, as if the door itself decided who to show this wing to."

"I walk along the corridors... there's a stair that I take, going downwards from a hallway close to the library, then I come to a dark place, barely lighted. When the lights begin shine again, I'm in this wing."

"I suppose something about the stair and the hallway provides a hidden way. Maybe this wing decides whoever enters..."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Does that mean it wants to trap us here, if this is a prison?"

"No. I don't know why, but it doesn't seem malevolent to me."

"You would know," said Hermione with a wry smile. Malfoy scowled but said nothing. "Then why did it lead us in? What does it want?"

"Maybe it wants to be cleaned."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Cleaned?" she said increduously. "Why _cleaned_?"

"Sometimes, in my manor, there are rooms that pull you towards them because they were lonely and wanted to be cared for," replied Malfoy, perfectly serious.

Hermione considered this for a while. "All right. Let's try it."

Malfoy walked over to a door, on which the number '53' was painted, and opened the door. "_Scourgify."_

Hermione watched eagerly just behind Malfoy as the room suddenly illuminated, though there seemed to be no light source, the walls scrubbed clean, the moth-eaten carpet rolled away and replaced by a clean one, the table and chair scrubbed till it shone, the mattress plumpened, the pillow washed, along with the sheets, and the rust cleared away from the bedstead. The window at the end was scoured and wiped clean, allowing the scenery on the other side to show through. The trunk was dusted and the rotting wood cut away and substituted with other wood. The room seemed young and fresh again.

Nothing happened as the room was cleaned and Hermione waited awhile to see if the wing, ridiculously enough, would protest. After what seemed like hours of waiting, Hermione moved to the next room. "Let's go."

Malfoy sneered. "The mudblood is finally doing what she and her people were _meant_ to do."

Hermione gave him a spiteful glance and raised her wand. "Be careful what comes out of your mouth, ferret." Malfoy's sneer only spread, but he didn't say anything more. She opened the old door, grimacing as it creaked on its corroded hinges, and pointed her wand inside.

"_Scourgify."_

By the end of an hour, all the rooms were scrubbed and cleaned. By then, it had turned into a competition on who could clean the most rooms. Malfoy had won, much to Hermione's consternation.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, silvered in moonlight, as they surveyed their work. Or at least, they were surveying their work.

"How do you stand all that gel?" she blurted out, watching each strand of his hair shine, one side lit up by moonlight, the other by candlelight, creating a strange contrast between the sides.

He gave her a sour glare. "I enjoy having neat hair, unlike you."__

If looks could kill, Malfoy would have died ten times over—Hermione was very sensitive about her hair. "Well, at least I don't spend hours in front of the mirror like some shallow fop who can't even answer a question without insulting someone," replied Hermione angrily, backing away with an irritated air. She pivoted and walked off without so much as a goodbye to the pureblood fuming in the wake of her clicking footsteps.

----3----

"How dare she say I'm shallow? I am not! Just because I enjoy making myself attractive doesn't mean that I'm shallow! And I suppose she thinks she's deep! She should spend more time on her appearance than on her useless brain," Draco muttered as he entered the Slytherin dungeons.

He glanced in a mirror hanging conveniently on the wall just then, pushing an out-of-place strand back into his well-coiffed head.

"I'm not shallow!" he declared to his reflection. The mirror Draco looked out at him and sniggered. _Yes, you are,_ it mouthed. "No, I'm not! I am Draco Malfoy!"

_So? Shallow boy... Shallow boy..._ His reflection smirked at Draco. _Shaaallow._

Draco smashed into the mirror with his fist and his reflection shattered into a million pieces. "Damn!" he cursed, clutching his now-bloodied hand. "Damn you, stupid mirror boy!"

_I'm talking to myself,_ a little voice in the back of his head remarked. _And it's all the mudblood's fault._

He couldn't shake the insult from his mind. No one had ever called him _shallow_ before. Draco walked off towards the boys' dorms, thankful that the dim torches did not show the blood trickling down his arm and onto the floor. In the morning, no one would notice a few dried, black stains. Finding a sock in his trunk, he wrapped his hand in it and crawled into his four-poster bed as Crabbe snorted into his covers.

_I'll find a way to pay her back yet._

----x----

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. Period.

Gosh, they seem so out of character. Poo....

I dunno why, but this chappie doesn't seem very good in my opinion... Well, I don't wanna write anymore. 

On another note, I just had my thirteenth birthday a few days ago, on July 2! Whoohooo!

Please Review!


	7. An Initiated Plan

**Clandestine Rendezvous**

_Chapter 6: An Initiated Plan _

----1----

The first day back, Hermione was greeted affectionately by all of her teachers, who found a way to praise her for what she did—all except McGonagall and Snape. Snape distinctly ignored Hermione in class and McGonagall treated her as if the incident with the runespoor had never happened. Specia seemed strangely interested in the incident, prodding her to tell the class the entire occurrence. Hermione refused.

The students from other houses pestered her for information on what had happened that day. Hermione remained silent and told Harry not to say anything, not because of Malfoy, but because it was much less complicated that way. She received owls from her parents (who had learned the basics of owl post a few years ago), Mrs. Weasley, and Professor Lupin, who represented the Order of the Phoneix. Mad-eye Moody demanded to know if she had seen any Dark wizards in the forest. Hermione was at a loss for words.

Her relationship with Harry was still strained. She could talk to him but standing close to him or looking directly into his eyes scared her. Harry recognized Hermione's fear and didn't push her. Ron and Ginny seemed oblivious.

She spent a little more time with Ron now, partly because Ginny decided she fancied Case Wheatley, a seventh year from Ravenclaw, and spent her time 'studying' with him around the school, mainly in closets and empty classrooms. She felt warm whenever she was around Ron and Harry; it was as if the old days, before she found she loved Harry, were back. Much like the old days, Ron could still beat her in wizard's chess, much to Hermione's dismay.

----2----

Draco took a swig of his pumpkin juice, looking around the Great Hall unenthusiastically. Granger was eating and laughing with the Weasley girl, Potter and Weasel were discussing something with passion (probably Quidditch), and Longbottom was listening to the girls' conversation shyly. Over in the Hufflepuff table, Ernie Macmillian was getting rather puffed up as Hannah Abbott kept praising him for charming a little rose he gave her to serenade her with dopey love songs. In the Ravenclaw table, Chang and her new boyfriend, a slightly effeminate guy named Dustin Normain, snuggled and giggled together. Loony Lovegood was reading the _Quibbler, _occasionally glancing at Weasley.

Over at his own table, the Slytherins were as stupid as ever, laughing thickly at some semi-intelligent joke Zambini made. Pansy Parkinson sat across from Draco, fluttering her eyelashes, which were painted pink today, at him in an attempt to be discreet. Draco swirled the pumpkin juice in his cup, waiting for dinner to end.

He remembered last night with an uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach. Why exactly he had gone back to the wing, he didn't know. He had simply been drawn there without words, a feeling in his chest telling him to find it. As for Granger, who knows why she was there. Maybe... no... but... it could have been that same force, right?

He glanced over at Granger again, who talked animatedly with Ginny Weasley. He couldn't have anything in common with _her_.

Dumbledore stood up with an enigmatic smile and the Hall quieted. "Good evening, students," he said, looking them over. "I hope the food has been to your satisfaction." The hall gave a hearty cheer. "Before you return to your repast, I have a few announcements to make. Due to some new health condition, Mr. Filch has been given a few weeks vacation, so we have a new caretaker, Mr. Dobbs!"

A slightly round, jolly man stood up and beamed down at the Hall. He took an elaborate bow and sat down, oblivious to the giggling of the students and a few teachers' chuckles.

"Our new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, Professor Specia," clad in bright violet robes, she waved sweetly out to the students, "has suggested a social gathering for the students. Therefore, on Halloween, we will have a costume ball. All years may attend and everyone must be in some sort of costume. You may ask anyone you'd like, not ask anyone at all, or go as a big group. There are no real formalities about this ball, unlike the Yule Ball we held during the Triwizard Tournament a few years back."

The whole hall was silent for a few stunned moments, then burst into uproarious cheering.

"That is all. You may continue your meal," said Dumbledore, sitting down again. The hall was alive with chatter and giggle as they discussed the ball among themselves.

Parkinson turned to Draco with an ominous grin, and Draco felt something twist inside of him. "Draco, we _have_ to go together!" she said, her voice a plaintive whine. Draco remembered the Yule Ball with revulsion and suddenly, an idea struck him.

"No, Parkinson, we don't have to. Dumbledore said, 'You may ask anyone you'd like, not ask anyone at all, or go as a big group.' I'm going stag this time," Draco announced with growing excitement.

Parkinson furrowed her brow. "What?" she asked dumbly.

"Stag. That means I'm going alone," said Draco patronizingly.

"But who will I go with? You can't leave me alone!" pouted Parkinson.

"Go with Crabbe. He doesn't have anyone," said Draco, getting up and attracting several Slytherins' attentions. He wasn't hungry, therefore staying in the Hall had no point.

Parkinson turned to her right, where Crabbe leered at her, the half-chewed chicken quite visible in his large mouth.

"Oh, all right."

Crabbe could have jumped twenty feet for joy.

Gregory Goyle braced himself as he neared the Slytherin common room, drawing himself up to his fullest bulk, muttering, "Act smart, act smart," all the way. When he entered, he saw Draco sprawled on a green and silver couch, shooting little black sparks at the rats scurrying around beneath him. The torches sent flickering rays of light across his face, casting him in a sinister shadow. Gregory took a deep breath, knowing he would need to be strong and brave to face the Slytherin Prince in his element.

"Draco," he snarled in his most menacing tone.

Draco barely looked up. "What is it, Goyle?" he asked in his impressively bored voice. 

"Vincent gets to go with Pansy. What about me?" complained Gregory, staring in fascination as one of the mice grew three times in size and burst, its little limbs flying across the room.

"You are a big boy. Figure it out yourself." Draco still didn't look up at him, as if he wasn't a threat. Gregory sniffed indignantly and came closer to Draco, though his heart thudded inside of his bulky body, finally standing in front of him, towering over him like a giant.

"No, I want you to help." Gregory knew he had to be stubborn to get what he wanted.

"How? Can't you just force a girl to go with you?"

"I want a girl. Not just any girl. Someone spacifit."

"Specific? Who?" Draco asked, though he wasn't in the least bit interested.

"Hermione Granger."

Draco's head shot up and his eyes bore a fleeting expression of wild joy. "_Hermione Granger_?The _mudblood_?"

Gregory nodded.

"I'll do it." Draco's eyes started to flit back and forth as if he were reading, which meant he was forming a plan. A cunning sneer spread across his features. "I'll do it."

Gregory broke into a grin. He had not forgotten how stunning Hermione looked the year before last in the Yule Ball. Every time he saw her after that, he had blushed fiercely. Thankfully, the others didn't notice. But now, he was able to take her to a dance! As soon as Gregory reached the outside of the common room, where he was sure no one could hear him, he let out a loud, joyous whoop and skipped down the dimly lit dungeons, singing snatches of _That Witch Has Stolen My Heart!_ all the while.

----3----

Hermione flopped onto her bed, halfheartedly reading a book about deciphering ancient runes. She could hear Lavender and Parvati Patil talking about the costume ball two beds over. "Hey, Hermione," they called after a while. "What are you going to wear?"

Hermione blinked. "I... I don't know if I'm going."

"You don't know if you're going? But you have to," said Lavender, casting a meaningful look to Parvati.

"Well, Viktor isn't here this year. It's not like anyone else is going to ask me," said Hermione a little sadly. It was true, after all. The boys weren't interested in her—to them, she was only pushy Hermione.

"What about Neville?" Parvati asked, coming over to sit on Hermione's four-poster bed.

"I don't know. Balls really aren't my thing."

"You looked ravishing at the Yule Ball in fourth year," said Parvati. "I was shocked to see you with all that glamour. You should dress like that more often." Lavender nodded solemnly. "Anyway, pretend you have a date. What are you going to wear?"

"I don't know. I didn't bring any dress robes."

"You don't have to wear dress robes. This is a _costume ball_, not an official Yule ball. You could wear a cow's disguise if you wanted to."

Lavender giggled. "Imagine Pansy in that kind of costume!"

Hermione gave the smallest of smiles. "She wears one everyday—she was probably born with one on."

Parvati squealed in laughter. "You're right!"

Lavender opened Hermione's trunk, at the foot of her bed, clucking in reprove as most of it was filled with books. She took all of the books out as Parvati looked over the bed and into the trunk interestedly. Hermione sighed and closed _Ancient Sumarian Runes and their Dark Purposes_. Not that they would find anything inside the trunk, but she had to let them look, like a mother would to her overly curious daughters.

Another loud squeal drew her attention.

"Hermione, how dare you hide _this_ from us!" Lavender exclaimed, pulling out of the trunk a wrinkled, yet sparkling Venetian ball gown from the eighteenth century. Hermione blinked at it for a moment, surprised it was there, before smacking her forehead.

"How could I forget! We went to Venice over the summer, on vacation, and my parents bought this for me! I put it under my books because there was nowhere else and I forgot about it when we got home, because I had memorized all the books and didn't need to take them out to study...." She gazed at the dress, a brilliant hue of gold with pale yellow petticoats, remembering how her mother had fallen in love with it and demanded to buy it for Hermione.

"You **will** wear this," declared Parvati vehemently, "and you **will **find a date! This dress can not go to waste!"

"Very well," smiled Hermione, getting a little excited despite herself. What sixteen-year-old girl wouldn't?

"You'll be dazzling," affirmed Lavender, pushing the dress towards Hermione to measure for the size. "Absolutely dazzling."

----4----

Hermione skid to a stop in front of the Arithmancy classroom, where Malfoy stood already waiting, at promptly seven. She wasn't late, though she could have been there earlier if not for Ron holding her up to help with his Herbology assignment.

Malfoy looked his slick, annoying self, though his cheeks bore hints of pink. "So you've arrived, Granger," he drawled. "I was beginning to hope another snake felt like tasting mudblood."

Hermione snarled. "They wouldn't touch me if I didn't try and help you. After all, they are drawn to ferrets."

Malfoy shot her a dirty look as Professor Vector opened the door with a large smile. "Good evening! Glad to see you are both here. Let's go."

Hermione and Malfoy followed her into the classroom sullenly, doing their best to keep as far away from each other as possible. As they passed the chairs and the teacher's desk, Hermione glanced at Malfoy. He seemed to be flustered, as if something important was on his mind. When he sneaked a look at her, a dreamy sneer spread across his face and his eyes started to unfocus.

_What is the bastard up to?_ Hermione mused, trying not to smile at the foolish look on Malfoy's face, which reminded her a good deal of Luna Lovegood.

Professor Vector directed them into her office and closed the door, pointing to a table at one of the corners. Two chairs stood next to the table, facing each other, as did several stacks of loose-leaf parchment. "Your jobs in this detention, and the others afterward, will be to correct on these rows of sums. All the information you need is already on the papers. The papers divine the near future of fourth year students, based on their birth numbers and their year cycles. Their names are also included in the parchment.  I will expect all of the thousand sheets nearly finished by the end of our week-long session."

Hermione nodded and immediately started over towards the table. Malfoy looked a little reluctant, but followed her, wiping the dreamy look off his features. They settled in the chairs, pulling towards themselves a stack of papers. Hermione grabbed the top and dipped a quill in red ink, starting to work.

-----

Draco smiled despite himself. Granger would look good in a frilly wedding dress, he decided. He could just imagine her walking up the aisle, a bouquet of white roses in her hand, her hair in a shiny knob under a veil. She would pace forward, smiling as Potter and Weasel looked on in disbelief. Finally, she arrived at the front, gazing up at Gayle's dull black eyes. Draco grinned. And then they would get married and Potter would commit suicide.

"Your jobs in this detention, and the others afterward, will be to correct on these rows of sums. All the information you need is already on the papers. The papers divine the near future of fourth year students, based on their birth numbers and their year cycles. Their names are also included in the parchment. I will expect all of the one thousand sheets nearly finished by the end of our week-long session." Professor Vector gestured to the table, which Granger moved to. Draco pushed away the thought of Potter's gruesome death to sit in one of the creaky chairs and pulled a piece of parchment to him, grading it swiftly.

It was tedious work, but Draco placed his undivided attention on it; he wanted to get the better of Granger.

Finally, after the sun had disappeared over the horizon and it was pitch-black outside of the window, Professor Vector came over, saying kindly, "We're done. Count up the papers and you may leave."

Draco glanced at his watch. _BED, 11:19_, it read.

Granger finished counting hers. "98," she announced, looking complacent.

"112," said Draco without bothering to look at his pile. Granger frowned and yanked his stack away, flipping through it, her eyes scanning the papers swiftly. She gave it back with a scowl.

"I told you it was 112. I win, mudblood," Draco drawled softly, watching her face heat with fury.

"We weren't competing," said Granger with a forced calm.

"We are now."

Granger gave him a sour look as Professor Vector collected the papers.

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger."

Draco nodded at the professor, then stepped outside.

Granger followed him out after saying goodbye to the professor. She head towards the Gryffindor tower, but Draco interrupted her. Time to initiate the plan, which, though not his best, was pretty admirable.

"Granger," he said, "I have a proposition."

"Good. Stuff it up your ass," said Granger, not turning around.

Draco smirked; baiting the mudblood was enjoyable. "I propose we have a bet on who can correct the most papers."

Granger paused and turned. Draco knew she was weighing her intellect against his, and from the look on her face, she was winning. "All right. Set the terms."

"Not here, Granger. Professor Vector may overhear. Follow me." Draco headed towards a dark hallway, strutting imperiously. After a slight hesitation, Granger followed, her eyes flitting back and forth for signs of ambush from hidden Slytherins.

"Well?" she asked as she stopped in the middle of the hall, unconsciously rubbing ink off her fingers.

"If I correct the most papers, you have to go to the costume ball with Goyle," he said with a smirk.

Granger's jaw dropped. Then her eyes took on a steely glint and she imitated his smirk. "Fine. If I win, you... you... have to wear a pink tutu the night before the dance at dinner, dance Swan Lake on top of the Ravenclaw table, while singing Celine Dion's '_My Heart Will Go On'_, after which you will present a rose to Professor McGonagall and kiss her feet."

Draco froze. _KISS MCGONAGALL'S FEET?_ She must be joking, or if not, mad!

Granger's satisfied, malicious expression was perfectly serious. Yep. Granger had gone off the deep end.

"Fine."

"Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"I will draw up contract papers." She pulled out her wand and summoned a piece of parchment, scribbling on it with surprising speed and holding it out to him. "Sign."

He glanced through the parchment titled **Binding Contract Between Wizards (Witches).**

_...In the event that Hermione Granger wins the competition between the said individuals, Draco Malfoy must dance Swan Lake at dinner on October 30th in the Great Hall, on top of the Ravenclaw table, while wearing a pink muggle tutu and singing the song from muggle music artist Celine Dion_—"My Heart Will Go On."_ Then he must gift Minerva McGonagall with a ruby red rose and kiss her shoes. _

_In the event that Draco Malfoy wins the competition between the said individuals, Hermione Granger must attend the costume ball on Hallowe'en, October 31, with Gregory Goyle from Slytherin House.... _

He had read enough. Malfoy signed on one of the dotted lines with a flourish.

Granger snatched it and signed it, laying a Preservation Charm on it. She gave him an arrogant look that reminded him distinctly of himself and tucked the parchment into her bookbag before marching off.

----5----

When Hermione climbed back through the hole to the Gryffindor Common Room, she found Ron and Harry engaged in a discussion, their eyes shadowed with worry.

"'Mione!" Ron said, glancing up. "You're back!"

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, pushing one of her elf hats that was peeking out under some more scraps with her foot.

"My scar," said Harry, looking up at her.

Hermione settled herself next to Ron in front of a blazing fire, pretending to be interested in a little piece of carpet so that she wouldn't have to look at Harry. "What about it? Did it hurt?"

"No. That's what's strange. You know how it's been hurting all the time, ever since first year? Now, it hasn't been hurting at all." She could still feel Harry's eyes on her, though she knew she should be thinking about what he was saying.

"Isn't that good?"

"No. Harry says something's wrong. He knows it. Why isn't You-know-who doing anything?" Ron reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Hermione's ear. When Hermione looked at him quizzically, he blushed and turned away, mumbling, "It was obscuring your eyes."

"He's up to something," said Harry thoughtfully.

"Well, what can we do? It's not like there's anything out of place this year," Hermione said, still watching Ron.

"I suppose we can only wait," said Harry, getting to his feet. "The Order may have something sooner or later. Good night, Hermione."

Ron got up too, staring down at his shoes. "Night, Hermione." He followed Harry up to the room as she watched the fire flicker. For a moment, she saw Sirius' head in the flames, but when she blinked, it was gone. "That must be what Harry feels like all the time," she said to no one in particular.

In another part of the castle, a wail broke out, stifled through thick walls.

----x----

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Urgh. Isn't this the most boringest chappie? Pounds head on table

To NotYourAverageSchoolGirl: Thanks for your support! That's really sweet of you to say all of those nice, nice things! My ego got really inflated—and my friends kept yelling at me to shut up about your reviews... XD!

To BlissfulSuffering: You're right, there are grammer/spelling mistakes in my stories. I guess it's because I'm writing them at two in the morning. I'll take up the offer of a beta reader, though. I get tired of rereading my chappie for grammer mistakes after tweaking and tweaking and tweaking and tweaking it.

To Anonymous: My reaction on seeing your review was: long silence raises eyebrow I'd just like to say, flamers, please desist. I don't mind constructive critisim—in fact, I welcome it. However, just saying, "your writing sucks" does not tell me anything new or useful. It's completely meaningless. If you, as a reader, wanna flame me, fine. Just tell me WHY EXACTLY you are flaming me, not that my writing "sucks and is terrible." (Grammer!)

Thank you to my other reviewers. I appreciate your support!

I'd appreciate more support, too. XD


	8. The Final Scores

**Clandestine Rendezvous**

_Chapter 7: The Final Scores_

----1----

Hermione unfurled the _Daily Prophet_ and skimmed its headlines. **Tips of Lestrange Residence Lead to Nothing,** screamed the front page. **You-Know-Who Rumoured to be Weaker Than Before**, said another headline right under it. **Dementors Unsafe to Employ** flashed the last bold headline.

"Anything?" asked Harry, having finished his breakfast.

Hermione shook her head. ¡"Nothing important."

"Mum said they aren't getting anything important over at the Order, either," said Ron, skimming over his letter. "And she wants you to be extra careful, Harry. Just so you know."

Hermione smiled and spooned some scrambled eggs onto her plate as Draco Malfoy strutted into the Great Hall, casting a lazy eye over the Gryffindors. When he saw her, he sneered pointedly and tilted his head back towards Goyle. Her smile dropped.

"Stupid git," said Ron, watching Malfoy say something snide to his cronies and go over to the Slytherin Table, propping his feet up on two seats. "Did you see that? He was looking at you!"

"Don't worry. Before the month is over, you'll see him dance to his death," said Hermione with an evil chortle, watching Malfoy from an empty space in the Hufflepuff Table where Susan Bones usually sat.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, who was now skimming over the Daily Prophet.

"You'll see," smiled Hermione, sipping her orange juice. "You'll see."

----2----

"Finished," announced Hermione, setting down her quill. The second night of the detentions progressed like the previous--silent and satisfying.

Malfoy leaned back on his chair in the darkness of the room, gazing out the window over her shoulder at dark, willowy shapes. "96," he said.

"103," countered Hermione.

They exchanged glares, then rose and departed, strolling along the corridors.

"Why do you always have to be the best, Granger?" asked Malfoy. "Why do you always have to succeed and put everyone else to shame?"

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Shame? I'm just driven, I guess. I suppose it was originally because I'm new to the wizarding world and I didn't want to fall behind, that was all. And then, when I started to do better than everyone else, I liked it and wanted to continue, since I was so partial to books anyway."

Malfoy scowled. "So you actually like all that studying and such?"

"Weren't you listening? Yes!" replied Hermione crossly. "You're too busy making fun of us Gryffindors to really succeed in school. That's why you're so bitter."

"I'm not bitter!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and tightened her grip around her cloak. They had walked into a set of empty corridors where the wind whipped her hair around her face like a brown cloud. Malfoy gave her a sidelong glance and snickered snottily. She stuck her nose up proudly into the air and walked off briskly. To her surprise, Malfoy followed and because his legs were longer, soon caught up with her.

"My parents had ingrained the idea that we were superior to all other beings inside me since I was a boy," said Malfoy, breaking the silence.

Hermione nodded. "So you hate it when I best you, considering you were supposed to be better." Hermione grinned despite herself, turning her head away so that her companion wouldn't see. _Malfoy seemed almost humble tonight_, she thought. _This is too good to be true._

----3----

"Who are you?" she screamed, her footsteps echoing down the halls. The torches had blew out in the wind, leaving her in darkness, all except for the point of light on her wand. "What are you?"

A shadow lurched in front of her and she screamed again, turning away. "Help! Somebody, help!" she yelled.

"Quiet, sweet child," came the silky reply of the shadow behind her. "No one can hear you, not so late at night."

She tripped on a loose stone, tumbling down a short segment of stairs, her wand flying out of her hand. Her heart pounding, she struggled to straighten, clinging to the wall in desperation. "Why are you chasing me?"

The shadow laughed, a soft tinkling noise like wind chimes. "It's punishment for what you've done, my pretty girl."

She gasped as she realized blood was trickling down her ankle.

"So what have I done? It's not like I hate muggleborns or make fun of Dumbledore? I'm a Ravenclaw, for Merlin's sake!" She edged away, a pain starting to grow in one ankle. She could see her wand in the distance, still lighted.

The shadow glided in circles around her, taunting and laughing. Finally, she reached her wand and shoved it towards the face of the shadow. Her eyes widened in shock.

"You!" Her voice came out at a strained whisper.

"Yes, precious little morsel. _Me._" The figure began to laugh manically and pointed its own wand at the girl. "Me!"

The shadow, still laughing, uttered a single spell. There was a flash of indigo light and the seventh-year crumpled where she stood. The shadow stepped on the Ravenclaw's wand with crushing finality. "Delicious," it hissed.

----4----

After paying their respects to Professor Vector, Malfoy and Hermione set out on their solitary path again. Malfoy began to praise the Slytherin House fervently, as he had won the night's contest.

Finally, Hermione had had enough. "What's so great about Slytherin, anyway? Name one wonderfully talented Slytherin now in school besides yourself, who you hold in such high esteem. Sure, Salazar was a genius, Snape was amazing, and your own father couldn't be beat, but what about now?"

Malfoy made a face. "Well, there's...­ er...­ Millicent Bulstrode. She scares me."

"Millicent Bulstrode is the human form of a bulldog," said Hermione with a derisive scoff. "Crabbe is a log that walks and Goyle is an overgrown frog. Don't you name Pansy Parkinson, either. She's a mad cow."

Malfoy simply looked at her with a blank expression on his face. Then, miraculously, he began to laugh. Hard.

"Mad cow! Oh, that's fresh, that's really fresh," he said, tears starting to come to his eyes in mirth. "Only Britain can come up with Pansy the mad cow, because only our bloody country is full of dairy cannibals."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were one," Hermione replied dryly, walking on without him.

Malfoy sprinted a few steps to catch up with her. "And how do you know I'm not?" he said, leering down at her. Hermione bit her tongue, resisting the urge to slap him.

"Because if you were, Crabbe and Goyle would be skeletons by now," she replied.

"Actually, they have really tough flesh. Salty, too. I'd need to boil them for hours before I could chew even the blubber."

Hermione made a face. "Thanks for those most breathtaking images. I think I'll have nightmares for a month, at least."

"You're welcome. Now, Pansy..."

----5----

Harry Potter pushed his dark hair out of his eyes and glanced over at his best friend Ron, who was sleeping soundly on the bed next to his, sprawled out over his covers. His lanky limbs were spread over his bedcovers and his pillow, for some reason, was resting his feet. Harry smiled indulgently as Ron let out a loud snore. Recently, it had become very obvious Ron was becoming attracted to Hermione. Though Harry didn't think it particularly horrible, he had nursed his own confused feelings towards Ron for many months and it hurt knowing that Ron could never know.

Harry closed his eyes in reminince of the first time he realized Ron meant more to him than just a best friend. He was at the Burrow, enjoying a scrumptious dessert after the dinner celebrating Ginny's birthday. Ron was eating a particularly large piece of cake with red and yellow frosting. Some of it was smeared over his lips and chin. Harry had put down his butterbeer as Ginny laughingly wiped some of the frosting away. He grinned as Ron started to protest, licking his lips to make sure the rest of the frosting was safely inside his mouth. And then Harry started to wonder what it would be like to kiss those lips.

He had been shocked at that thought and immediately dismissed himself to go to the bathroom. There, he splattered his face with cold water but his cheeks were still burning in embarrassment. Ron and Hermione greeted him with a laugh when he came out. "You aren't bulimic, are you?" joked Ron. Harry shook his head, but couldn't clear it of his strange thought. Throughout that summer, he was kept awake until very late hours thinking about Ron. He didn't understand--was he in love?

He tried hard not to look at Ron too much when they sat close together. He tried to ignore how close they were on a regular basis. But boys being boys, even now he could still get a rise out of seeing Ron asleep on his bed. Harry shivered, blushing, and opened his eyes to see Ron was awake, looking at him inquisitively.

"Something wrong, Harry?" he asked, sitting up to get his pillow out from under his feet.

"No, nothing." Harry turned away and folded his covers over his ears so that Ron wouldn't see him flush again.

----6----

"Goyle is really excited, you know," remarked Malfoy with his trademark smirk. "He really wants to go with you. I'm sure that's not all he wants, either," he laughed.

They had just finished another session of silent rivalry. Much to Hermione's distaste, Malfoy had won again, this time by a margin of one paper. Professor Vector seemed strangely oblivious to their proceedings, almost conveniently so. Hermione did not see the way the teacher smiled knowingly every time the two sniped at one another in anger, or the way her eyes sparkled with mirth when they glared at each other as she picked up the papers.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look. "Can't you be more mature?" she asked crossly.

"I'm sixteen!" he exclaimed. "How mature am I going to get?"

"I'm sixteen, and look at me," replied Hermione, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Does 'pink tutu, dancing Swan Lake on top of the Ravenclaw table while singing My Heart Will Go Away' signify maturity?" he retorted.

"I told myself to think like Ron and Harry would," replied Hermione stiffly. "And it's My Heart Will Go _On_."

Malfoy snickered. "You sure don't think much about Potter and Weasley if that's the way you think they think," he said.

"It doesn't matter how smart they are or aren't," replied Hermione, blushing. "It matters how pleasant they are. And Harry is the kindest, most considerate boy I know. Ron is...­ the most­ well-meaning." Hermione frowned a little, hoping Malfoy wouldn't see that though she did appreciate Ron for being a good friend, he could be childish and thick sometimes. Ron was the kind of guy that was rather slow on the uptake, even with his heart of gold.

Malfoy grinned. "And what am I?" he asked. Hermione could see his head swell in size, expanding like a hot-air balloon under a blazing inferno.

"The most annoying, puerile, pigheaded, annoying, narcissistic, spoiled, annoying, insensitive, and manipulative person I know. Oh, and did I mention that you are an absolutely annoying prick?"

Malfoy's grin faded and his eyes narrowed, glittering with malice. "Really?" He grabbed her shoulder and slammed her into the wall. Hermione gasped in pain, struggling as he held her arms still with his hands and pinned her against the stone with his own body. "Am I that nasty?" he jeered, his nose only centimeters away from hers.

"Haven't you considered the danger of walking with me, night after night, in the darkness of the hallways? You are a Gryffindor, dear mudblood, and I am a Slytherin, a pureblood and therefore better than you. I'm not someone you can trifle with," he spat, unusually pale. Hermione could feel his heavy breath on her face and the uncomfortable warmth of his legs holding hers down.

"I assumed I could trust you, but now I know how stupid I was. I can't believe I actually thought you could be _nice_," she hissed, glaring at him intensely.

"Nice? Nice? With your description of me, I am no better than any other Slytherin!"

Hermione snarled. "No, you're not."

Malfoy stood there, staring at her as comprehension dawned on his face. _No, he's not looking at me_, Hermione observed. _He's looking past me_. His shoulders hunched in sudden sorrow and he closed his eyes in thought, before pulling away in resignation, releasing her. They stayed in those positions for a long time, as if captured in a pitiful scene in stone, trapped in a moment of time.

"I'll win, you know," he said finally, his back to Hermione, his shoulders thrust back in defiance. Without a glance back, he strode off, leaving Hermione to massage her shoulders in confusion.

----7----

Hermione pulled back from the last sheet of parchment with a sort of sad finality to her action. Truth be told, she would rather miss this competition. Malfoy was still angry at her and would not look or speak to her throughout the detention. She really didn't mean to offend him when he asked her what she thought of him. That _was_ how she thought of him a few days ago, but the more time she had spent in his company, the less she had detested him. She didn't want to ruin a budding friendship; from what she had seen of Malfoy, he could be a good person if he tried.

She leaned across the table. "Malfoy," she began apologetically.

He gave her a withering look with his clear grey eyes. "What?"

"I'm... sorry. I shouldn't have called you all those things." Hermione gave him a hopeful smile. "Do you forgive me?"

"Forgive? What is there to forgive? It's all true isn't it?" he replied viciously. "I am just like every other Slytherin. I am self-absorbed and annoying. I am spoiled. I am all those things and more."

"But I was...­ was _wrong_," Hermione said. "You aren't just like every other Slytherin. You have the capacity to be likable."

Malfoy gave out a bark of laughter. "Likeable? Draco Malfoy is not likable. Although it is nice that for once you actually think you were wrong, you aren't. I'm exactly like my Malfoy heritage dictates--a perfect example of Slytherin maliciousness."

Hermione bit her lip and leaned back resignatedly. "How many?"

"99."

Hermione calculated the entire number of the papers on a piece of scrap parchment. When she finished, she gawked at it.

"Well?" Malfoy asked snappishly. "Who won?"

Hermione lifted her wide brown eyes to lock onto his. Her mouth opened and closed several times, reminiscent of a fish. "Spit it out!" Malfoy ordered. Hermione looked back down at the numbers, calculating them again. The result was the same.

"Malfoy..."

"What?"

"We tied."

----x----

I'm finished! Finally!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Everything I write about it is now legal. MWAHAHA!! You can't prosecute me!!

Hehe! It's a tie!


	9. What's a Tutu?

**Clandestine Rendezvous**

_Chapter 8: What's A Tutu?_

.

----1----

.

"We tied."

Draco's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open in shock, his anger forgotten. He had been expecting to win, placing his reputation on the line. A tie wasn't a win! He quickly composed himself and ran a hand through his gelled hair, a nervous habit. "And what exactly does that mean?" he asked.

"I don't know!" Granger nibbled on the ends of her quills.

"Stop that!" Draco said with a glare. Granger frowned and put her quill away. "How can you not know?"

"The contract was drew up on default. All I needed to do was fill in a couple of blanks and it would write out the rest. I…" She trailed off and promptly closed her mouth as green silk rustled next to her. Draco looked up to see Professor Vector looming over them with an ominous glint in her eyes.

"Done?" He nodded noiselessly as she picked up the stack of parchment and flipped through it. "Good. You may go now."

Draco and Granger said their goodbyes and rushed out, expressions grim. As they reached the empty hall where they normally conversed, Granger pulled out the single sheet of contract parchment from her bookbag. She spread it out on the wall, pressing against the creases.

_"In the event of a tie, Hermione Granger must attend the ball with Goyle and Draco Malfoy must __dance Swan Lake at dinner on October 30th in the Great Hall, on top of the Ravenclaw table, while wearing a pink muggle tutu and singing the song from muggle music artist Celine Dion—"My Heart Will Go On." Then he must gift Minerva McGonagall with a ruby red rose and kiss her shoes." _

Draco and Granger looked up at the exact same time and exchanged horrified looks. "What does it mean we must both do those despicable things?" Draco demanded.

Granger rolled her eyes in that exasperating way of hers. "It means _we both_ won, Malfoy. It also means we both lost. Therefore, we must complete the tasks set to us."

"Or what?"

"This particular contract that I summoned up," said Granger with a long sigh, "has more dire consequences for disobeying it than most. If one of us disobeys the contract, his or her will get a really strong rash in a really sensitive area. This rash lasts for ten years, no matter what the mediwizards try to do to it. The only way to stop it is to sever the sensitive area off."

"What sensitive area?" Draco asked absently.

"Can you be any more dense? Merlin! You're acting like Goyle! THAT area! You know, _DOWN THERE_!" Granger exclaimed. To emphasize this, she rolled up the parchment and started to whack Draco on the head with it.

"You really shouldn't hit my head when you mean my crotch, Granger," snarled Draco, pulling the paper out of her hand and rubbing his forehead.

"Can you be ANY more immature?" she yelled.

"YES! I'M A SLYTHERIN, REMEMBER?"

"I SAID I WAS BLOODY SORRY!"

"WELL, YOU DIDN'T MEAN IT!"

"I DID, ALL RIGHT! SO STOP WHINING LIKE THE PASTY-FACED PRAT YOU ARE AND TRY TO MAKE SENSE OF THIS!"

"OH, I'M A PASTY-FACED PRAT NOW, AM I?"

"YES, YOU ARE!"

"THEN YOU ARE A BOSSY, KNOW-IT-ALL BOOKWORM!"

"YOU ARE A BITTER, SELF-PITYING FERRET!"

"YOU ARE A FILTHY MUDBLOOD!"

Granger suddenly fell silent and her red face paled. She turned away and walked off, breathing heavily, her shoulders hunched. Almost inexplicably, Draco knew she was crying. Her sniffles and furtive wipes did nothing to hide that tears were rolling down her cheeks and splashing on the stone floor. A feeling settled in Draco's chest, a tightening of his stomach and a straining of his shoulder muscles. Then, he realized what it was. Remorse.

"Granger," he started, stepping towards her. She ignored him stoutly, refusing to turn.

"Granger," he said again, this time a meter away from her.

"Stop, Malfoy. Go away. I hope you itch to hell."

The feeling only grew in his stomach. Since when did he feel remorse? But he knew it would only get worse if he didn't act on it. "Merlin, Granger. Don't get your knickers in a twist," he said, trying to be light.

"Sod off." She didn't have conviction in her words, only a tired resignation.

"Granger, I'm sorry. I…"

"You? Sorry?" She turned to face him and he bit back a gasp. Her eyes, though narrowed in disgust, were shining with tears, the same tears that left wet trails on her face, making it shine in the torchlight. She sniffled, wiping away another recalcitrant tear, and laughed dryly. "Malfoys are never sorry."

"This Malfoy is. Don't make me say it again, Granger," he replied rather crossly, approaching her. To his surprise, she didn't back away. She only lifted her head and glared at him defiantly, her face screwed up. This only caused two more tears to spill over the edge of her eyes. Draco tentatively reached out and wiped one away, a fluttering feeling floating in his chest. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before she backed off and turned away from him.

"All right. I forgive you if you would forgive me," she said.

"Fine." Draco rubbed the back of his neck uncharacteristically. "I have one question though…"

"Yes?"

"What's a tutu?"

.

----2----

.

Hermione blinked. What was she doing here?

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed while Parvati and Lavender huddled together and whispered about the best makeup to use on her. The moonlight, along with a draft, streamed through an open window to her right. The girls were giggling in front of her, comparing several little bottles of colored powder and liquid. Hermione suddenly felt afraid. She felt very afraid.

"Hermione?" Lavender asked, poking her. Hermione jolted from her thoughts.

"Yes?" she said, turning her attention to the gigantic grins on Parvati and Lavender's faces.

"We think that you would do well with the gold eyeshadow, with orange under to bring out the speckles of gold in your eyes. You'll need some yellow shimmer on the edges, and we'll have to put a layer of foundation on. Mascara with sparkles will be needed, and brown eyeliner would be best. A lipstick with a hint of orange would do very nicely, with shimmer, of course. We'll need gold nail polish for your fingers and toes. You do have shoes, right?"

Hermione nodded. They had lost her when at the word 'shimmer.' Something popped into her head. She was going with _Goyle_. She certainly didn't want anyone to know that!

"Lavender, Parvati, I need a favor."

The two stopped their jabbering and looked at her expectantly.

"I'd like it… well… that is to say… if you… I need… just try to make me look other than myself, ok?" Hermione finished lamely. "And don't worry about the eyes. I'm going to wear a Venetian mask that goes with this costume."

"Oh!" More squealing from Lavender and Parvati filled the room. "Oh! A mask! What a novel idea! You'll masquerade as the Marchesa Aphrodite!" Lavender said with another fit of giggles.

"Who's that?" asked Parvati curiously.

"I'm surprised you know of her, Lavender. You don't seem like one to memorize names from literature. Muggle literature, too." Hermione was pleasantly surprised that Lavender had such knowledge.

"My father has volumes and volumes in his study. He gave me one to read. 'The Assignation' by some guy named Poet."

"Poe," smiled Hermione, "Edgar Allen Poe."

"Who's that?" repeated Parvati.

"Poe was a brilliant writer in the muggle world. Marchesa Aphrodite was a tragic Venetian lady who killed her newborn, herself, and her lover took poison because they couldn't be together. It's a beautiful story, though heartbreaking." Hermione smiled fondly, remembering how she had found Poe's wonder her eleventh summer.

Parvati still looked confused. "But that's dumb. Why would she kill herself? Can't she get a divorce?"

Hermione and Lavender gaped. "Divorce? This is the 1600s!"

"So?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Never mind."

A craftly look suddenly stole into Parvati's eyes and she grinned. "So do you have a date?"

"Huh?" Hermione fiddled with the strings to her sneakers.

"For the costume ball!"

"Oh… yes."

"Really? Who who who???" Lavender started to bounce up and down on Hermione's bed in excitement, reminding Hermione of an overeager puppy.

"None of your business."

"Why not?"

"Because I got tricked into going with him." Hermione said. After all, they could identify her easily at the ball, and they would know she was dancing with Goyle. It's better if they think she was tricked than if they thought she _wanted_ to go with him.

"Come on, Hermione!" they whined, tugging at her nightshirt. "We won't tell!"

She pulled away with a snort. "Of course," she said sarcastically. "Like you don't have a rumour ring of girls from all of the houses."

Parvati was suddenly very interested in the wood the bed was made of and Lavender started to make a big deal out of the patterns on the bedclothes. Hermione only chuckled. "I'll tell you later, on the day of the ball."

They grinned at her. "I knew you would see it our way!"

"Yes. Then I'll pay you to shut up about it."

"Why?"

"Because he's horrible."

They exchanged doubtful looks and climbed into their own beds, leaving Hermione alone. She dropped like a stone onto her mattress, then realized something was crinkling. She pulled out Viktor's letter from under her pillow. She must have been too tired to notice it before. Hermione silently cursed herself and spread out the wrinkled parchment. Starting where she left off, she began to read it again.

.

----3----

.

Draco wished he had never signed any damn contract. He had found out what a tutu was, the lyrics to the song, and that standing on tiptoe was harder than he ever imagined. Of course, he couldn't get something else to take his place, as the contract would know, so he was stuck with it. Draco glared at the remaining people in his damp common room. They scurried away under his fiery glare. When he made sure every little second-year was out, he cleared his throat and began:

"Every night in my dreams,

I see you, I feel you…"

He dropped off and gritted his teeth. What did he get himself into? Dancing on the Ravenclaw table… he might as well turn himself into a wad of cheese! Everyone would laugh at him. He was going to get humiliated.

_Wait… a wad of cheese… that's it!_

Draco laughed. He was a genius.

.

----4----

.

Hermione jotted down notes furiously as Specia's honey-coated voice rang through the room.

"The _Multus Membrum_ Curse is one of the more imaginative curses ever created. It causes limbs to grow out of different places on the body—such as arms on one's head, toes on one's neck, hands on one's ankle, etc. That would make it pretty easy to tickle one's feet, wouldn't it?" laughed Professor Specia. The boys of the class laughed with her, staring at her all the while.

Hermione scoffed and shook her head. "Honestly!" she muttered under her breath.

"Honestly what, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Specia, now standing over Hermione.

Hermione grimaced. Professor Specia always tried hard to make fun of her or degrade her among her fellow students since the first day she had arrived at Hogwarts. She was cold to Hermione, always looking down her nose at her and pursing her lips. Harry and Ron didn't notice, of course. They were too busy staring at that long dip in the front of Specia's robes, like every other boy in class. Perhaps Professor Specia disliked Hermione because Hermione disapproved of what Specia stood for.

Hermione gave a false little smile. "Honestly, who would want to tickle their own feet?" she replied.

Specia gave her a hard look and laughed, high and false. "How quaint, Miss Granger."

The others laughed with her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and applied herself to more note-taking so she wouldn't have to see the boys drooling over the Professor.

-----

As she was exiting the Defense Against Dark Arts classroom, a certain platinum blonde fell into step next to her. Ron and Harry had stayed behind to speak with Specia about the homework—as if it were their real intentions—and Hermione was left alone on her way to Advanced Transfiguration. "Granger, I need a word," Malfoy hissed out of the side of his mouth.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look and followed him to a deserted hall. "Yes?"

"You know how you need to have evidence that I followed through with those infernal tasks?"

"Yes?" Hermione looked at her watch. Two minutes and she needed to be in McGonagall's class.

"Tommorrow is the thirtieth. I want you to visit Luna Lovegood at her table for a while."

"Why? To get an up-close look?"

"Yes." Malfoy smirked secretively.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said, turning towards the Transfiguration room.

"Oh, and Granger?"

"What?" demanded Hermione. "I'll be late!"

"Come to the secret place after the ball. I want to know if you've been with Goyle. Bring a piece of his costume."

Hermione gave a sigh. "All right!" she exclaimed. "I got to go!"

And with that, she sped down the halls and got to McGonagall's a second before the bell rang.

.

----5----

.

Draco grimaced. All was in place. It was the middle of supper and a golem of himself was sitting at the Slytherin Table, covering up for his disappearance. He fixed the tutu on him a little, noting how tight it was. Thankfully, he was muscled enough to look good in the pink contraption. He took out his wand and pointed at himself.

_"Decresco," _he whispered.

When he began to shrink and shrink, he grabbed his broomstick, which was already shrunken to a barely discernable size. When he finished decreasing in size, he crawled through the crack beneath the doors of the Great Hall and leapt onto his broomstick. Granger had slid into the seat next to Luna Lovegood with an expectant smirk. He smirked back—he was too smart for her.

As he reached the table, the noise of the students pulsed through his mind and he experienced sudden vertigo. He got out tiny little earplugs and stuffed them into his ears. It took a little while before his head stopped spinning. Finally, he reached the space in front of Granger and stared up at her. He sent up a tiny flare from his wand and it burst at Granger's eye level. She jumped in her seat and looked down. Draco waved at her and snickered. She leaned down to the table with a furious look on her face.

Positioning himself in the so-called 'third position,' he began to dance and leap and bow in the way he had seen in one of the books on the muggle sport of ballet.

"Every night in my dreams…" he started, winking at Granger's livid expression.

-----

"Love can touch us one time, and last for... a LIFETIME!" Hermione blinked. Malfoy's voice was a squeaky little thing, extremely off-key, too.

She rolled her eyes.

"Love was when I loved you, one true time, I HOOOOOOOOLD YOU!!!" Hermione wanted to bang her head on the table, but Malfoy was dancing there. Who would have thought the prat decided to shrink to this little speck of dust to dance? Who would have thought Malfoy would be serenading her in such a high soprano in the middle of the Great Hall during supper? Who would have thought he was wearing a pink tutu? Was it pink?

"Near… far… where-EVER you ARE!!!" Hermione covered her eyes with her hand. Next time, she would specify his size.

-----

Finally, Draco was done. He bowed mockingly to Granger, who had a horrified frown on her face, and leaped onto her broomstick again. He took off towards the teachers' table, taking out of his robes a single red rose. As he hovered several meters above McGonagall, he dropped the rose and muttered the spell to enlargen it again. It grew to its original size on the fall, so it seemed as if a rose had appeared out of nowhere to land next to McGonagall's plate.

"I am brilliant," he grinned. McGonagall gave a little gasp and the other teachers started to murmur among themselves with little chuckles. "Seems like Minevra has a little admirer, said Professor Sprout. Draco grinned even wider—that is, until he saw Dumbledore staring at him, the corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile. No, not staring at _him_. He was staring at the spot where Draco was hovering. Sure. Draco gave a shudder. The old coot could see a lot.

Draco dipped then, swooping down to under the table. He knew that Granger was watching with the Oculatus spell, which allowed her vision to be magnified. He landed on he stone floor and made his way to McGonagall's heelless black shoe. He scowled a little—he did not want to kiss McGonagall's shoe—and turned to see Granger's eyes on him. Draco gave a little sigh and pressed his lips against McGonagall's shoe. He pulled away quickly—it tasted like pineapple shoeshine. What kind of freak has flavored shoeshine? He spit back out onto the ground and rubbed his lips against his robes furiously.

Disgusting.

Granger looked less than pleased as she made her way back to the Gryffindor Table. She suffered through the questioning by her friends and watched him sourly.

And then a malicious grin replaced the angry expression. She was watching something at the doors to the Great Hall. Draco moved a little to the right and leaned his head to see what she was so happy about. He blanched. She was watching… Mrs. Norris.

.

----6----

.

"That was the best Hogwarts supper of my life!" Hermione confided to Ginny.

"Why?" asked her younger friend.

When Hermione told her about the deal between Malfoy and herself, a laugh escaped Ginny's lips. Then it was replaced by a frown. "Tonight was the thirtieth. I didn't see him."

"He shrunk himself, the poor devil, so only I knew."

Ginny snorted. "That was crafty."

"Yeah. But he got what he deserved. Right when he was finished kissing McGonagall's boots, Mrs. Norris came in and immediately saw him. Close your eyes and imagine. He was standing there and Mrs. Norris was stalking towards him, licking her lips. He jumps onto his broomstick, but his earplugs fall out, so he gets a huge headache. He flies under the tables but Mrs. Norris chases him. He can't get very high because his head is wobbling. Mrs. Norris catches up and he swerves upwards. His headache intensifies and he falls from his broom on top of Mrs. Norris. So he's in swimming in her fur and she's scratching herself and chasing her tail!"

Ginny burst into giggles. "Oh, serves him right! But now you have to go to the ball with Goyle."

"Yeah, I know. Don't tell Harry or Ron, got it? They would go on a rampage if they knew. Or rather, Ron would."

Ginny nodded. "I can see that."

They looked over to two squashy armchairs where Ron and Harry discussed each other's horrible deaths and smiled knowingly at each other, as only women could.

----x----

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.

You all hate me, don't you? I didn't have Draco humiliated in front of everybody in school. He's smarter than that, really. Or… maybe not. But that's not important. Mrs. Norris punished him enough. Hehehe.

Next: the costume ball. Hermione is golden and Draco turns his hair silver.

Multus Membrum means Multi Limbs

Review, please! You know I'm a sucker for reviews!


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